Hide no longer
by ThisbeAngel
Summary: Takes place after the musical ends...Christine leaves with Raoul, but a short time before their wedding day, she receives some unexpected news. COMPLETE.
1. Default Chapter

**Standard don't-sue-me-I'm-broke-anyway disclaimer:**

**I don't own them. None of the primary characters...the odd maid or love interest, perhaps, but no one pivotal. Not yet, anyway. They've all been invented by Leroux, Kay or ALW. Any references to the play, books or anything else Phantom you may have seen is all part of the fic. I don't pretend to have invented any of them. **

"Package for you, mademoiselle," Monique trilled, rapping on Christine's dressing room door. "And flowers from your fiancée."

Christine hurriedly ran her hands beneath her eyes. A look in the mirror assured her any evidence of her tears was gone. Forcing a smile, she opened the door.

"Thank you Monique," she said, accepting the dozen red roses and lightweight box.

"Another wedding gift?" she inquired.

"I imagine so," Christine said distractedly.

"And such beautiful flowers! The two of you must be on pins and needles waiting for the wedding!"

"It certainly is something," she answered, wondering if Monique would report her abject lack of enthusiasm to Raoul.

Monique was a chambermaid from the D'Chagney estate. Raoul had tried to convince Christine to occupy the guest's wing in his home until the wedding, but when she refused, had insisted on sending Monique to ensure she was "well cared for."

"Or chaperoned," Christine thought bitterly. The wedding was to be a small affair a scant five weeks after her last night at the opera. Raoul feared Erik might try to kidnap Christine, or possibly that she would try to return to the house below the lake, and at first hired a police officer to guard the house. But three weeks passed, with no sign of Erik, and eventually the security was loosened. Then came the paper.

Christine saw it first. "Erik is dead," it read, with a short follow-up on the "opera ghost," whose body was recovered on the shore of the Mediterranean Sea. His neck was broken, and scavengers had made a mask and tattered opera cloak the only means of identification. But it was enough.

Christine remained quietly morose around Raoul, who believed she felt nothing for "that monster" other than sadness over the graphic depiction the newspaper had allowed. Alone, she wept bitterly and fed her meals to Sasha, the spaniel Raoul presented to her, "since you'll be home so much." Of course, she was to give up the opera.

"After all," Raoul said easily, patting Christine's hair, "Once the children arrive, you'll have to act respectable. My funny darling," he chuckled. "Madame D'Chagney, the chorus girl? Be reasonable!"

The chorus girl. "I was the star," she thought. "Or would have been if not for you!" Hurriedly, she pushed the thought out of her mind. Raoul loved her, and Erik was dead. Raoul had done so much for her, offered her a place to stay and security, faced much displeasure from his family all because of her…who was she to judge him? Her choice was made, like it or not. "At least I'll never be alone," she thought to herself.

After the news, Christine lost weight and seemed quieter, but Monique blamed the jitters. After all, in a short time, Christine would marry one of Paris's most eligible men. Who could eat?

Monique shut the door after instructing Christine to dress for dinner. "Your fiancé will be here within the hour."

Christine put the flowers in a vase, hardly sparing them a glance. Red roses used to make her cry, but no more. Erik was dead, the management wanted nothing to do with her, she was sure, and even if they did, Raoul would never let her perform. There were things far worse than red roses, like the death of her teacher. But Raoul had promised to protect her from all of life's problems. There was no need for tears.

"Funny, protection no longer seems so important," she mused, dressing carefully, selecting a dress only to put it back and choose another. "Raoul likes green. I shouldn't wear black. I am not in mourning!" Still, it haunted her. A broken neck most likely meant hanging. Christine was certain Erik would never allow himself to be hanged…unless it was of his own accord. She'd no idea how he'd wound up washing up on a beach, but it hardly mattered. Erik could do whatever he chose, probably down to choosing how the world should receive his death.

"Oh Erik," she sighed, twisting her engagement ring on her finger. "What did I do to you?" Tears came again as she pushed thoughts of love from her mind.

"He didn't love me! I didn't love him! It was manipulation, he wanted fame and was too twisted to seek it for himself!" The more she argued with herself, the harder it became to believe her own words. Raoul's words, really, but how powerful they were, especially in those first weeks when her sleep was tortured and her mind raced.

"Even Lucifer was an angel of light," Raoul remarked once, and she held it close, trying to believe it, that the man who'd treated her so gently and lifted her voice and spirits to new heights, was really an evil genius.

"What does it matter now?" she thought. "He's dead and there's nothing left to do."

A knock on the door announced Raoul's arrival. She forced a smile, endured a kiss, and left in a cab with the man she would marry.

Dinner went downhill quickly after Raoul announced his plan to move to England in May, within four weeks of the wedding.

"But darling, we don't know anyone in England," Christine protested, trying to mask her unexplained terror at the idea of leaving Paris.

"That may not be so bad," Raoul said after a moment's hesitation. "Darling, I know you don't get out much, but no one has forgotten that…incident. That damned article did nothing except refresh everyone's memory. I get odd looks everywhere I go, and you do, too. How are we expected to be successful in a town where simpleminded idiots determine who is socially acceptable? Ludicrous," he finished firmly.

"You are ashamed of me," she whispered.

"Nonsense! Christine, I love you, but really- how can you expect me to command respect like this? England will be good for us, and you'll learn to love it. You really will."

"But I don't speak any English at all! I know French, some Italian, and Latin." Christine thought back momentarily to her evenings in Erik's science lab. The man was really quite a genius, but so patient with Christine. He explained everything to her in a way that made her feel like she was intelligent in areas she had no experience with at all.

_"Erik, I can't, I'm quite afraid I'll ruin something." _

_"My Christine, don't worry. Everything is quite safe, and anyway, it can all be replaced or repeated. That's the beauty of controlled experiments. I know how I did everything, and can do it again. Now, touch this wire- here." _

_"It lights! I made it light up! I've never seen electricity this close before!" _

_"Amazing, isn't it? Oh, there's so much I want to show you."_

Christine was brought out of her reverie by Raoul's response.

"Relax. I will learn English and teach you. How else can you order your dresses- yes, as many as you want- and school our children?"

"School?"

"Until they're old enough for boarding school, of course. Well- there's something. Maybe we'll just hire a tutor until they're old enough. They need the advantage of good, strong instruction, you know."

Fuming, Christine smiled gamely and let Raoul ramble on until the carriage mercifully stopped in front of her flat.

When Monique had gone to bed, after a barrage of questions about her evening, Christine had the chance to be alone. Burying her head in a bed pillow, she screamed. The muffled quality of the sound infuriated her. She longed to yell at Raoul, rail at him for patronizing her and trying to cut her off from all she knew.

"He's insecure. He calls me frail and treats me like I'm stupid, but he's so jealous of a dead man- a dead man! – he can't wait to hide me away!" Her thoughts brought her to the brink of smashing something, but rather than wake Monique and face her questions, she calmed down enough to get ready for bed.

As she sat at her dressing table brushing her hair (Raoul hated it when she wore it down, and it took a long time to untangle it from its confined state) her fingers brushed the surface of the mirror. Instantly, her mind was back in the Opera House, begging her angel to show himself. What repercussions that had brought!

Alone in her room, Christine half expected the mirror to pivot or feel hot under her touch, but the surface remained unchanged. Instead, her eyes fell on the gift she had received earlier. Sighing, she placed it unopened among the other gifts- beautiful but pretentious baubles she could do without. Instantly, she picked the box up again in annoyance.

"If I don't open this," she thought, "and respond immediately, some rich old dowager will ask Raoul what happened to whatever she sent, and he'll probably move us to Siberia to avoid any 'odd looks'!"

The solid oak box unwrapped easily. Christine removed the wooden lid to find an ivory card on heavy paper resting on a bed of potpourri- rose petals, ivory white and red dried to almost black.

"With love on your wedding day," she read somberly. She saw no name and decided to check the wrapping later to determine whom she should be thanking. She tried to guess the contents. Brandy glasses? Too light a box. Another silk tablecloth? Not likely. Her fingertips sank into the petals and brushed against a cool, stiff surface. She moved the petals aside and gasped.

A white mask reposed in the box. She recognized it immediately as the one Erik had been wearing that last night they saw each other. Crying silently, she clutched it to her chest and rocked back and forth, like a child with a security blanket or favorite stuffed animal.

A note lay beneath where the mask had been.

_"Please forgive my impudence. I have information for you._

_Nadir"_

Below the signature was an address.


	2. chapter 2

**Here we go again: Dese characters, dey be not mine. Maybe Monique. Maybe. Don't sure me.**

**Thank you for the reviews, guys. To respond, yes, I have read Kay's work and this fic relies on it quite a bit. **

Christine did not sleep that night. Why would Nadir, Erik's old friend and, in a sense, watchdog, want to talk to her? Why now, and not when she might have saved Erik? If only she had known!

Dawn came and Monique was shocked to find Christine up, dressed, and waiting for breakfast.

"Oh, Monique, there's so much to do!" she gushed. "I've got to get to the tailor, the shops- can you believe I have no hat to wear on my honeymoon?"

"Mme. Daae, of course! Shall I accompany you?"

"No, Monique, dearest, a lady at times needs privacy to build up her trousseau! I plan to go to Rouen."

"Rouen? That's house away! In Heaven's name, why?"

"Why Monique, surely you've heard of Madeline-," she thought fast- "Giry (_damn!)_? She's very exclusive, only in Rouen, but such lovely clothes! You just go in, get measured, and in hours she has these miracles ready to box up and take home!"

Monique, of course, had barely heard of Rouen, never mind any Madeline Giry, but hated to appear uncultured and praised the fictitious Madeline. Christine got on the train to Rouen with instructions to Monique to take care of Sasha and not to look for her until the morrow.

Once the train left Paris, Christine made sure the porter was gone and pulled the mask from her cloak. She traced its outline with her fingers, as softly as she had traced his face that last night.

_He stood, paralyzed by a thousand emotions coursing through his veins as she drew back from that first kiss. Her dark blue eyes looked at him in a way he had never thought a woman would see him- not in fear, not in pity or revulsion or interest as one might view a scientific experiment, but in love. She reached up slowly to caress his unmasked face, but before she could touch him a second time, his hand was on her wrist and he was steering her away from him, away from the shattered mirror and torn wedding veil and towards the two-way mirror where Nadir and Raul waited._

The mask comforted her in a way she couldn't explain. Erick may have been dead, but she had something of him again. At the moment, she was sure she would have never left Erik if she'd had a crystal ball back then. Raul was no longer the image Christine had thought she loved, but a vain, artless man, kind but entirely too reliant on his money.

Suddenly Christine saw the year's events in a new light. Raul may have loved her, but his manipulation was as great as Erik's had been. Erik's death was no accident, it had been brought on by her and Raul.

Both men had allowed their emotions to lead to death, she realized. "Raul is kind and far more polished, but Erik loved me so fully. And yes, I loved- love! – him. I love Raul, too, but it is a grateful sort of love, and for what? I am in love with Erik, and it's too late! But I cannot, simply cannot, marry Raul. I'd rather be alone forever than constrained by a lifestyle I can't stand. But how can I possibly leave a week before the ceremony?"


	3. chapter 3

**Standard take-your-lawsuit-elsewhere rumble: None of them are mine. Like the rest of you, I wish they were, because then I'd have a lot more money than I do right now. **

It was raining when the train pulled into Rouen. No one was there to meet Christine, but what of it?  
"He was probably expecting a letter, not a personal visit," Christine thought wryly, hailing a carriage. Nadir was so reserved, so disapproving yet protective of Erik, she was amazed he'd written to her at all. "He must be so sad," she reasoned.

The cab stopped in front of a large estate, walled and set back far from the road, but with an open gate. She marveled at its size until she realized Erik must have left Nadir everything. He'd been rich, did he bother to draw up a will? If Nadir had been the sole heir of everything Erik owned, and who else would be, that certainly explained the mask. She paid the driver and started up the stone walkway on foot.

Nadir welcomed her in before she could knock at the heavy door, and seemed only mildly surprised.

"My dear," he said, holding the door and motioning for her to come inside. "How are you?"

"Fine," she lied, "and you?"

"I get by," he said simply. "Where is your husband?"

"I have no husband," she said coolly, a little taken aback by such a personal question. "Raul is in Paris, I imagine. And our wedding is to be Sunday."

"And then?" He offered tea; she refused. "Will I be seeing you in any operas when the new season begins?"

"Hardly," she snapped, ashamed with her conduct but unable to hold back her rage. "Raul wants a "respectable" wife, slow and sweet, to love and pamper and control. He wants to, no, insists we, move to England. It's all so dull!" Nadir smiled dryly and chuckled before commenting.

"Allah knows your life has been far from dull!"

"Oh, that didn't used to be true, before- Nadir, you said you had information. I can only assume from the mask that it's about Erik. Pray, what is it?"

"You might have asked before you left back in February. Perhaps if Erik had told you himself- Mme. Daae, Erik and I met years ago. You know the story. But I underestimated him over and over. I thought his obsession with you was merely manipulation. I never thought him capable of love, though I should have. He loved me, and my son, and any animal that had the fortune to encounter him. He loved beauty, which should have been a sign immediately when it came to you. But in your case- _forgive me! _– I thought it was only lust. Or that you were some sort of pawn. But he- you must believe me – Erik truly loved you."

Christine had sat silently at first, but soon she began to cry uncontrollably.

"I know," she sobbed. "I was foolish, a child, scared of the world and all he had done for me. Raul told me he was trying to use me, but I can't believe that! Oh, Nadir," she wept, crying into his shoulder as he stiffly tried to comfort her, "what happened?"

Nadir rose and unlocked a cupboard. He removed a think book and gave it to her. It was a musical score.

"Erik wanted you to have this," he explained, "but it is never to be performed. He wrote it for you, though he didn't know you when he began composing it. It was, he said, for the woman who could love him. Even a spider has a right to a mate, his words were."

Christine wiped away tears and read the title on the first page: _The Nightingale and the Rose_. Seeing her expression, Nadir asked,

"You are familiar with the story then?" Christine merely nodded, brushing more tears away with the only handkerchief that she could find in her cloak: one from Erik. It had been awhile, then, since she'd worn this one.

Nadir watched her for a moment.

"I am sorry to have upset you. Perhaps sending the mask was too much. I assumed you would want to have it, and that you would only reply to me if you wanted to know more. Christine, are you happy?"

"I thought so, at first," she said slowly. "Everything was simple, there were no mysteries. I was safe. If only I had realized earlier- I didn't need Raul's protection. I didn't care about what society thought, not really, and that was the only danger. I love him! Oh Nadir, why didn't you stop him?"

"Could anyone hold Erik? To be frank, you alone, perhaps, and once you'd gone- there was nothing left I could do but respect the wishes of my friend."


	4. chapter 4

**Here we go: If you think I invented any of the principal characters in this, please cut me a big, fat check and go sue ALW, Kay and the Leroux estate. Because, clearly then, THEY adapted from ME. (Insert hysterical laughter here.)**

**Reply to reviews: I will not be recapping the story of the rose and the nightingale, at least not that I can forsee. For the curious, the story (from Kay) basically is that a nightingale falls in love with a white rose. Every night he comes and sings to the rose, until finally the rose opens her petals to the nightingale and from their union is born the red rose "the world was never meant to know." A little metaphor, perhaps?**

**_Other notes_: I am not sure how the Siamese cat will be worked in, yet, but expect to see her appearance later on. :-**

Raul strode up the walk purposefully. He carried an armful of roses, the best he could find in Paris, and a box of Belgian chocolates.

"Poor Christine, she seemed so upset about the move," he mused. "Still, she'll get used to it. Perhaps the priest there will allow her to sing with the choir sometimes."

It was evening and he was going to surprise his bride-to-be with a trip to the zoo. They had gone there once, months before, and he remembered her smile as they threw buns to the elephants.

_"Look!" she'd exclaimed, pointing to one particularly large male. "Look how he picked it up!"_

_"It's interesting," he'd said offhandedly, but her eyes were wide at the elephants, and he held her for a moment, feeling her hair against his chin and then, for the first time, lifting her chin and kissing her. Her blue eyes widened, at first in fright, then in love. _

_"Elephants," she'd said, and he laughed and kissed her again._

The surprise turned out to be Raul's when Monique (who assumed Raul was probably meeting Christine in Rouen for some sort of romantic weekend) mentioned Christine's whereabouts.

"Why is she there? And alone? Why didn't you go with her?"

"She said she wanted privacy to select…personal items for her trip with you next week."

"In _Rouen_?"

"Madeline Giry, of course, sir. She's quite the designer, I hear she studied with some of the best designers in all of Europe. Truly a genius, yes?"

"_Giry?_" Raul's eyes narrowed at the uncommon, yet familiar, last name. He turned on his heel, threw the flowers in the gutter and the chocolates after them.

"The train station," he said to his driver.

"Sir?"

"Now!"


	5. chapter 5

**Hey, hey, it's a lawsuit: if you think I own them or claim them, then you're very silly. **

Nadir and Christine stayed up very late talking. Christine felt comforted by her ability to talk about Erik unhindered. Clutching a cup of hot tea that Nadir constantly refilled for her, she alternately laughed and cried as Nadir told her stories from Persia.

Nadir also spoke of his wife.

"We loved each other in a way one is lucky to love once in a lifetime. You should have seen me before! I was reserved, serious-," Christine silently wondered how Nadir could be more serious than he was now, but decided it didn't matter, "- and then she came along. Then our son. Losing him was so hard after my wife."

"I'm sorry," Christine murmured.

"No, I am. And I was selfish. I thought what she and I had was unique only to us. When Erik fell in love with you, I was jealous. I forgot how love can change a person and saw only his past."

"He was still violent," Christine reminded him, shuddering inwardly at the memories of torn music and tales of the torture chamber that was all too close to the drawing room they had been sitting in.

"My dear, you've no idea how much control he exercised when you were around. His anger has deep roots, but he tried. And instead of helping him, I held him back."

"What?"

"Erik was a genius. He could figure out anything in the universe, but never love. I could have encouraged him, helped him court you in a conventional manner, but I thought you loved Raoul."

"I thought so, too. Nadir, why did he hang himself? Why not a drug, if he had to do anything to himself at all?"

"You'll have to ask him yourself one day."

"You believe he repented and found Heaven, Nadir? Or that I'm so responsible for his death that I've no longer any hope of salvation?"

Nadir hesitated for a moment before responding. "Under my religion, you are both infidels simply because you trust Christ instead of Allah. But he did speak favorably of salvation after you left. From your perspective, Christine…I can't imagine Erik didn't pay his price a hundredfold on earth."

Christine felt some comfort in his statement, but her next words came out as a yawn.

"Forgive me, Mme. It is past Midnight," Nadir said, noting the hour. "You have a train to board tomorrow?"

"At noon, yes. Is there an inn nearby?"

"Of course, but it's terribly low-class. You are invited to stay here, and have breakfast in the morning. There's plenty of room."

"Thank you. May I help you clean up the tea?"

"Certainly not. I would never permit a guest to do such a thing. I can handle it myself. Christine, stop looking so surprised, surely you've noticed by now I employ no servants?"

"No?"

"I prefer my privacy," he said. "Come, your room is this way."

Nadir led Christine down a hall and unlocked one of the doors. She wondered privately if all the doors were locked.

"There is a dressing room off this room," Nadir said, motioning in the general direction. "I- well. There are clothes belonging to you already in there. These weeks have been so hard, and I did not want to throw them away." Nadir kissed her hand and held her gaze for a moment. "Goodnight, Mme."

"Goodnight," Christine said, closing the door. The sight of her nightgown, the one she always wore during her visits below the lake, made her shake. It was as if nothing had changed when everything did. She dressed for bed and took a seat at the vanity, unsurprised to see beauty supplies adorning its surface.

She wondered if Nadir was in love with her. It wasn't unlikely, after all, she was the only other person close to his departed friend. Solidarity in such matters often leads to attraction. Throughout their conversation and dinner, she'd caught Nadir studying her carefully, listening with great intent, and of course, he had kissed her hand. Was his discourse on not making a mistake with love some sort of clue?

Christine was quite sure marrying Raoul was out of the question, but was equally certain she did not want to become involved with Nadir. He was a good man, but after Erik, being good simply wasn't good enough. She wondered if she'd ever feel normally about another human being, about relationships, again. Soon, fatigue took over, and Christine slept without dreaming.


	6. chapter 6

**Sir, another note: Fondest greetings to you all! The characters in this chapter belong exclusively to Leroux, Webber and Kay. Not Kim, as much as I'd like that to be so. This is one of my favorite chapters, and you're all going to hate me for how I leave it off, but rest assured, there will be more coming within a day or two. Keep the reviews coming!**

Christine woke early to the sounds of shouting. She recognized both male voices all too well, and donned a robe and slippers quickly. She crept down the hall to hear better.

"Monsieur, I implore you, calm down!" That was Nadir, sounding angrier than she'd ever heard him, but in a controlled way that suggested he was reining in his true feelings.

"Shut up! Where is she? You helped me out once but that won't stop me from using force to find her! Did you really think-,"

"Sir!"

"Did you really believe you could have an affair with _my_ betrothed and get away with it?"

"Sir, I will send for the police!"

"Please do! I've already been there, asking if anyone saw a woman get off a train and take a cab yesterday! What a surprise when they told me she went here! It's a small town, and I wonder how they'll feel hearing a _foreigner_ like yourself took advantage of a woman?"

"Leave this place!"

"Stand aside, old man!"

"Raoul!" Christine's voice and immediate presence startled both men and narrowly stopped them from coming to blows. "Raoul, stop this at once!"

"Christine. I don't know why you'd do this or why you ever thought you could get around my watchful eye, but we are leaving now. We all make mistakes, no one need ever find out-,"

"No, Raoul." Her gaze was strong but her words wavered. She was not used to standing up for herself like this.

"Excuse me? Christine, you are almost my wife and will do as I command!" He reached for her arm, but Christine caught his wrist and held it. She thought of Erik, who had made no requests of her other than she love him.

"_I'd be able to do so many things if I had you as a wife, Christine."_

"Raoul, I love you. And I am not having any affair."

"Well. Be that as it may, I can hardly condone-,"

"No. Listen to me. I am faithful to you, but I cannot marry you." She turned his palm up and slipped off her engagement ring. She placed it in his palm before he could react, and he stood there, staring at it.

"Christine."

"Raoul, I am not what you want, what you need, or what you thought I was. I love you, but not as a wife should, and I would not be any happier than you. Find someone used to the life you love, who your family will accept. But not me. I can't, I'm not ready to leave Paris, or the opera, or anything." She prayed he would not ask for clarification of "anything". His temper had already proved itself frightening enough.

"You-," his voice shook as he stared at the ring. "You would give up all I have given you and all I can offer you for the stage?"

Christine sighed. She knew if she said yes, he might concede to her remaining on stage. She also realized that had never really been the point. The only way to convince him to leave would be to provoke him to the point of anger once more, and she hated to do it. "If only he would understand," she thought, and took a deep breath.

"No. I do love the stage, and singing, but I could live without that if I had to. I am ending this because I can never love you the way I love- yes, love! – Erik. It's not fair to either of us, or," and she hesitated, knowing how odd it would sound, "to him."

Raoul eyes changed. They no longer reflected a sadness or confusion. Instead, there was a blind rage piercing her.

"You would give me up for a _monster?_" He roared, the noun hurting Christine more than any blow ever could. "A dead man? You are _insane_, Christine! Everyone tried to tell me that, yes, everyone, you didn't know that, did you? Everyone told me you were out of your mind, but I refused to listen! I really believed you'd let it go and grow up eventually, but once again, you've succeeded in making me out to be a fool! Well I won't have it!" He turned to look at Nadir in disgust.

"I don't know what you're doing in all this. But I'm through with it. Lock her up, it's where she belongs. Singing in her head! Voices in the night! Whatever made me think she was worth anything?" He shoved Nadir roughly and left, slamming the door hard enough to break a window. Nadir looked from Raoul's retreating frame to Christine, and back to the window.

"I think I have a spare pane of glass somewhere," he muttered. "I'll be back shortly."

Unable to keep up a tough façade anymore, Christine sank to the ground, crying hysterically into her hands. She wept for Erik, for hurting Raoul, and for what Raoul had said to her. As she sat there, shaking, she felt a hand trembling as hard as she on each shoulder.

"Nadir, I really don't think-," she began, standing and turning to tell Nadir she did not share his feelings, but stopped short. Her face turned pale, and she had to hold on to an occasional table to remain upright.

There, facing her with tears running down his cheeks and out from under his mask, stood Erik.

"I wanted to know you knew for sure," he choked out, before being overcome with emotion.


	7. chapter 7

**Standard disclaimer: They're not mine. I'm increasingly mad at this sorry excuse for a computer, too. There's two pieces of information for you. **

**Come on, you didn't really think I wouldn't bring him back! And of course, it will be explained…in case you were wondering, this is Kay-inspired but more follows the end of the PLAY, in that this is the first time Christine has seen Erik since the last night at the opera.**

Christine was unable to do anything but stare. It was Erik, but in her head, she was still certain he was dead. The garish white mask was replaced with a flesh-colored one that gave him a more normal appearance. Gone were the signs of illness she had last encountered. This man looked alive, healthy, and what's more, calmer than she'd ever seen him. She stood, frightened to move lest she be imagining things and scare him away.

"I read- everyone thought you were dead!"

"I know. It was the only way to keep people from hunting me down after all that had happened. I had Nadir find a corpse and dress it in my cloak and mask. Then, wisely, he left it someplace where no one would be able to tell for certain who it was."

_"…once you'd gone- there was nothing left I could do but respect the wishes of my friend."_

"Erik-,"

"I had to know what choice you would make when there was nothing on the line," he continued, silencing her questions. "You thought I was dead, so you didn't fear my anger if you left with Raoul. Instead, you decided for yourself. I'm quite proud of you. I didn't know you were able to yell like that!"

_"Erik, I can't do it! I just can't!"_

_"Relax, my dear, of course you can. I wouldn't have picked this piece if I didn't have the greatest faith in you, and your voice. Now. You know the words. Let the music do the rest."_

_"In sleep he sang to me, _

_In dreams he came…"_

_"Wonderful, Christine. If you only knew how much your voice has improved, how beautiful you sound, how _proud _I am of you at this moment."_

"Erik, I-,"

"I had to know your choice. When you first arrived, I wanted nothing more than to hold you, but I held my breath. I thought it too good to be true. I thought perhaps you were just coming to return the mask. Then when you sent that boy away, I knew."

"Erik, I did bring the mask back, but I wasn't going to return it." She walked to the other end of the parlor, where a fire burned bright in the coolness of an April morning. Not giving Erik a glance, she threw the mask on the fire.

"I don't need it anymore. You're here. And you don't need it, either."

"Christine, I love you." This time, Erik felt only joy in the words that less than two months before made him want to die. This time, Christine did not turn away. Instead, he saw her beautiful smile.

"I love you, too," she said, and hugged him tightly, their first contact in months, and his first sign of mutual affection in nearly forty years. He caught his breath and put his arms around her, rocking her gently. She freed one arm, removed his mask, and lifted her face to kiss him, but he stopped her.

Placing one finger over her lips, he said, "This time, the honor is mine," and bent to kiss her himself.

The sensation to hold her again! His angel, his Christine, here on her own accord! He kissed her over and over, afraid to let her go and lose the moment. "This has got to be some kind of dream," he thought, "but my dreams were never this wonderful."

Only Nadir's return to the room interrupted their embrace. Erik welcomed his friend with the first genuine smile he'd seen on Erik in years.

"I was so angry when Nadir wrote to you," he said, touching Christine's hair gently. "I was worried someone else would figure it out and try to find me. But it brought you here."

"We have both learned great lessons in trusting one another," Nadir remarked, thinking how happy both of them seemed. When Christine had arrived, she looked so drawn and tired Nadir was concerned she was sick. She certainly didn't have the glow of a bride-to-be. Nadir hadn't seen many new brides, but he recognized the look Christine wore now from his own wedding day.

Erik glanced at Nadir, who nodded slightly, but did not leave the room.

"Christine…" Erik began slowly, praying he was making the proper choice at the right time, indeed, prayer had become something strangely important to him in the last months, "Do you remember that last night? We said a lot of things, but I didn't believe you when you said you loved me."

"I meant it," she said softly.

"I know that now. I also called you a liar when you said you'd marry me in any church in Paris if only I let Raoul go. I thought you were only trying to save him."

"I was trying to save him, but I also meant it. Although not as much as I probably should have." Erik stayed focused and refused to let himself be bothered with that particular admission. If anyone had ever brought to his attention things he'd said in moments of extreme emotion- well!

"I know. I don't expect you to answer this right away, but would you ever consider making me that offer again?" Christine paused.

"No," she said, finally.

"Ok," Erik thought, be calm. You've been through this before and you can get through it again. Just don't break down! "I understand."

"I don't think you do," she said, resting her head on his chest and placing one hand over his heart. Her left hand. "I haven't got a ring, and anyway, what kind of lady proposes to a gentleman?" Erik felt a smile grow across his face instantly, and he laughed, a gentle, loving chuckle that made Nadir smile warmly.

"Well, my dear, if that's all you require-," he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a tiny gold ring sparkling like the sun, "you may have this." He looked at her, and she nodded. He slid the ring on the fourth finger of her left hand, and told her once more how much he loved her.

This time, Nadir politely left the room, and Erik kissed her once again.


	8. Chapter 8

**You all know the drill by now. Also, this is the part of the story where things get dicey. I knew how I was going to bring them together, and I have a vague idea of what happens after, but if anyone has any comments/suggestions, now is the time to let me know! **

Nadir left the house shortly thereafter, claiming he had urgent errands to run. Erik and Christine sat alone in the drawing room, unable to be separated for even a moment. She sat with her back against his chest, and he absently ran his fingers through her hair as they spoke.

"God," he prayed to himself, the first prayer he'd offered up in quite awhile that wasn't angry, "thank You. She's so perfect." To Christine, he asked,

"Christine, are you certain you want to marry me? Can you cope with a husband society will probably never grow to accept?"

"Yes," she said immediately. "Of course."

"Are you certain? Think of this carefully." He hated to talk about it, but this time, he did not fear nearly as much that she would leave. Would she? It was a question that had to be asked, it was not fair to her to put her in a situation that would make her miserable. "I've come too far to ruin this over being selfish," he thought to himself, tracing her cheek with one finger. He continued.

"Christine, I grew up near this town. We will not be here for long, most likely. But people don't forget anywhere you go, and they judge every move you make. It will be very hard for you."

"But Erik, I am not ashamed of you. I love you!"

Erik stood suddenly, though he made sure to place a pillow behind her head.

"Erik? Where are you going?" She asked urgently, afraid that her comment had somehow upset him.

"Wait here, please," he commanded gently, and left the room.

Christine sat for almost ten minutes before the door opened again. She almost gasped. Erik stood before her, but he looked almost completely normal, by the world's standards. Only close inspection revealed the nose to be false and showed a line around the cheek and eye where something clever concealed his deformity.

"Erik! How?"

"I have put some thought into this for some time," he explained, "though I wonder why I still did after you left. Perhaps something was telling me not to give up. It takes awhile to put on properly using the adhesive I invented, but once the rubber is in place, there is almost nothing unusual about it. Is there? I tried to tint the rubber to match my skin tone." If he was expecting an overjoyed reaction, Erik was greatly disappointed. Christine said nothing for a moment.

"What's wrong, my dear?"

"It must be terribly uncomfortable," she said simply.

"It does get a little warm, but it can be worn for hours before I have to remove it. I've gotten used to it. Why do you ask? I thought you'd like it."

"Erik, the invention is marvelous, but I don't understand why! I love you! That means you, as you are! Wear the thing outdoors if it makes you feel more comfortable, but for God's sake, _never_ discomfort yourself like this for my benefit alone! Ever!"

Erik felt tears welling up for the hundredth time that day. He sank onto the couch with Christine in his arms, planting kisses in her hair.

"I love you," he whispered, over and over. "I love you so much."


	9. Chapter 9

**Standard disclaimer: Objects in mirror may be larger than they appear. Or, characters in this story probably don't belong to me. Whichever suits your fancy.**

If Christine thought her engagement to Raul was far too short, the shorter one to Erik seemed interminable. There was so much to learn from each other, but every day she wished more and more they were already married.

"It's so hard waiting!" She complained one day, as they sat in the library. She was reading fiction, he, a medical text, but they were leaning up against each other. Contact was crucial to them both, Christine because she had never felt quite like this about any man before, and Erik because he'd simply never experienced it to this magnitude in his life.

"Patience, my dear!" He laughed and kissed her lightly. Since that first afternoon together, he had stopped wearing the mask in the house. Nadir showed no signs of discomfort, his history as an employee of a demanding Persian Shah had left him immune to most sights and experiences. If pressed, he would confess uneasiness with Erik's history, but it did not affect how he acted now. Nadir found more and more excuses to leave the couple alone, feeling Erik had a lot to catch up on, and as a matter of consequence, was himself feeling more connected to humanity. The other night, Nadir had met a lovely woman at a restaurant, and while he was almost certain they would have no future together, the time spent talking had been wonderful. Lucy was articulate and kind, though her history as a dancer bothered the conservative Nadir.

"Patience? How can you of all people talk to me about patience? Can you really wait another moment?" Erik laughed and ruffled her hair, but not in a belittling manner.

"Two more weeks is practically a moment, _mon ange_. Besides, you were the one who wanted the wedding in the church with the Giry women present, and they simply cannot make it out before then."

"I know," she sighed. "But I cannot wait to be out of here!" Concern crossed Erik's face as he beheld Christine.

"My dear, I thought you were quite happy here."

"I am, darling, I am, because I am with you, but it will be lovely to have our own house after we're married." Erik swallowed hard. He squared his jaw and faced his bride.

"About that, darling. I told you we would move out, and I meant the next bit to be a surprise. You see, I have designed a house for us, but I'm not sure where you'd like it built. Obviously, I'd like it to be set back and that's a problem, because you need to be close to Paris. But it would be rather difficult to be close to town, especially if the citizens were particularly backward." He paused.

"That, and there's simply no way I can have it done in time for the wedding. Even with a crew of the most capable workers, it couldn't be done in two weeks!" He laughed at the absurdity of it.

"Well, could we not move back to the opera? At least until the house is done?" Erik considered.

"I suppose we could, it would be difficult to undertake, but all the furniture is there, and I know Ayesha would appreciate being in familiar surroundings." Here, he caressed the Siamese cat who, after a week, seemed to get accustomed to Christine's constant presence and act less malevolent towards her. "But I thought you would prefer it here, and Nadir doesn't mind the company. In fact, I think he rather enjoys it. Makes him feel like he has normal friends, deluded soul that he is. We could certainly stay here. Why not?"

Christine got a devious look on her face. She kissed Erik and leaned over to whisper in his ear. Erik's eyes widened as she described things he was unaware she knew about, things that quite required a certain degree of privacy, and he found himself blushing.

"My dear, wherever did you learn about things like that?"

"Please," she laughed, enjoying his surprise. She so rarely got to throw him off guard. "I was in the ballet corps, you know!" She kissed him once more, longer this time, and tried to return to her book, but Erik wouldn't allow it. He continued to kiss her, until she finally pushed away.

"Darling, please! It's hard enough to wait without your doing that all the time!"

"And who got me in the mood?" He kissed her again, laughing, and she made a game out of dodging him, teasing him and giggling. "It's your silly Catholic traditions!"

"My silly traditions? Who woke me up at eight this morning for a sung Mass?"

"Who was confirmed?"

"Who plays the requiems after Nadir has gone to bed? Okay, actually, that's a little unsettling," she teased, kissing him once more. A look crossed Erik's face as she pulled away.

"My dear, what is it? Are you all right?"

"Piano playing," he mused. "Christine, I know you sing with me, and it's lovely, but you've never made any request for lessons. Are you bored with it?"

"Heavens, no! I just felt strange asking for them now that we're engaged."

"Do you wish to return to the Opera?" Christine's face grew quite serious, but Erik did not miss the look of sheer joy that escaped for a moment at the mention of a stage. "It wouldn't be that difficult. You're out of practice, but could be up to your potential in a short matter of time."

"Erik, have you been reading the news? Carlotta was coaxed back, and everyone is talking about how I cursed the opera house and invoked a ghost. I don't think they want me back." She was surprised to see Erik's amusement. Months ago, Carlotta being held in higher regard than Christine would have resulted in anger, and possibly a case of mild food poisoning for Carlotta and her understudy.

"You certainly did invoke a ghost, you little vixen!" Growing somber, he added, "I don't think it would be a terrible problem. And if it is, we could always go to Italy. That's where you ought to be anyway. Your talent is wasted in Paris, really."

"Italy? Erik, I barely speak any Italian!" To herself, she thought, "this conversation is starting to sound familiar. At least it's not England."

"You know more than you think you know. You know the operas, you would pick up the rest. You're quite intelligent, you know. But there is no hurry. We can wait forever or leave tomorrow. It's up to you." Christine thought for a moment. She loved to sing. Those moments on the stage were some of her favorites. She loved the costumes, the lights, the beautiful music and feedback from her teacher, the man she loved.

"When can we start again?" Erik held her and looked into her eyes.

"First, let's get married. I can think of nothing I'd be able to do properly until then."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's notes: Thank you for all the good reviews! I thought it was time to take a peek back at our old Vicomte before we get too wrapped up in wedding plans! Anyway, you know the drill, if you've heard the name before in ALW, Kay or Leroux context, not mine. Josephine and Sarah ARE...we'll see where that goes.**

Raoul was not a happy man. By all rights, he should have been, as being back in his family's good graces meant that once again he was the most privileged young man in France. He had anything he wanted at his fingertips, from tables in the best restaurants to the best seats at the opera, not that he had dared return to the opera. The papers had not been kind to either Firmin or Andre, and the rumor was that if things didn't shape up, the opera house might have to close its doors for good.

For the first few weeks after the stage re-opened, things weren't bad at the opera house, because bad news sells tickets faster than anything else. People came from miles around to try and catch a glimpse of "the ghost," and as a result bought out every show, but were severely disappointed in both the lack of the ghost's presence and what they saw before them on stage. The male singer who had replaced Piangi was handsome but by no means overly talented, and was consistently overshadowed by Carlotta, who had been coaxed back but was visibly damaged by the events that had occurred on Christine's final night there. Her high notes were shaky, and if a stage hand caught her by surprise at any moment, she was prone to fits of hysteria and would refuse to come back on stage. Only the ballet corps resembled anything of what it once was, because Madame Giry was inflexible in her instruction. The day after the "Don Juan Triumphant" fiasco, the girls were amazed to hear that M. Giry had called for practice.

"Girls!" she had said, addressing the group of nervous ballet rats that stood tremulously before her, looking around the room as if to see Erik, ready to torment them. Only Meg stood silent, silently still reeling from her participation in things. "Girls!" This time, something in her voice made them snap to attention. "I don't know what you may have, I don't know what you may have seen, but that is irrelevant. We are here to dance, and we shall. We are not here for stories; I suggest that if you want to tell gothic mysteries you try your hand at a novel. Now, to the _barre_!"

"M. Giry," ventured Josephine DeSimone, a girl of 19 who had been brought into the corps only that year, "Are you sure it is quite safe to be here?" Indeed, the only people in the opera house besides the ballet corps were Firmin and Andre, who were frantically trying to make the police believe that a man had vanished into the basement. Of course, since the torture chamber and lake had been secured by Erik as soon as he'd let Christine and Raoul go, they were finding nothing.

"If I thought you were in any risk of your lives, I would not have brought you here," M. Giry said wearily, keeping herself composed as she thought of Erik and hoped he was all right, along with Christine and Raoul. She considered herself getting too old for this kind of thing.

"Anyone who is too frightened may go home," she said in a voice that suggested only a fool would take her up on the offer that would certainly cost them their place in the corps. "Now, to the _barre_!"

But it was not the flagging opera that had Raoul down in spirits. It was, of course, the absence of Christine that tormented him, namely, the fact that she had left him, not for another man, but for the memory of one. Raoul, of course, knew nothing of the events that transpired at Nadir's house, and only knew that he was not worthy to match a dead man in the eyes of Christine.

"Sir!" Raoul was startled by the voice of his housekeeper coming from the door nearest the garden where he was trying to relax.

"Sir, a visitor here to see you, a Monsieur Firmin and Andre from the opera."

"Tell them I will see them in the sitting room," he said, "and please, offer them something to drink."

"Of course," she said, walking back inside. Raoul followed her after a moment.

"Monsieur D'Chagney!" exclaimed Monsieur Andre as Raoul walked into the room. "What a delight it is to see you again!"

"The pleasure is mine," Raoul responded formally. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"Ah, business so soon?" inquired Monsieur Andre, a rather strange statement as that was all Raoul ever discussed with him. "Very well, then, we'll get down to it. I trust you are well?"

"Yes, now that I've finally had some quiet," he said in what he hoped was a lighthearted manner. The first few weeks following the disaster at the opera had been terrible. Besides his despondent fiancée- ex fiancée, he forced himself to admit- his face had been all over the paper as one of the key players in the evening's events. Between police questioning him and the papers looking for interviews and Christine's troubles, he hadn't been able to get a moment's rest.

"Well, quiet is good for some, but not so good for business," Monsieur Firmin said bluntly. "And as a patron of the opera, we're looking to you to help us out!"

"I beg your pardon?" Raoul said, growing impatient. "I was helping you out, it is not my fault we didn't catch Eri- that damned 'ghost,' and I have continued to support your theatrical efforts. What more can I do?" The managers exchanged glances and averted their eyes. Finally, Monsieur Andre shifted uncomfortably, adjusted the tie that suddenly felt entirely too tight in the mild spring air and addressed Raoul.

"Your face is very well-known in Paris, and you are very well-liked." That much was true. Since word had gotten around that Raoul's chorus-girl-turned-diva fiancée had left for good, there had been constant attention from ladies whenever he went out. It seemed that Raoul, by no doing of his own, had become one of Paris' most eligible, and most unwilling, bachelors.

"We have devised a way for that popularity to benefit us both," Andre continued.

"Yes? How's that?" Raoul asked, sitting back.

"We'd like you to come back to the opera." Seeing Raoul's startled face, Andre barreled on, not giving him a chance to speak. "It would be good for people to see a man of your station returning to the opera. It would speak good things about the place. You are popular, you are known, and everyone knows the story. If you returned, how many more would follow?"

"Gentlemen," Raoul protested, "I think you're missing something here. Who cares if I attend the opera? You have plenty of elite who still attend, no, not as many as before, but if the rich and wealthy are not attending now, I hardly think I will change their minds."

"You're right," Andre said smoothly, cutting off a red-faced Firmin who looked entirely too ready to belabor the point. "But that's where gossip comes in."

"Gossip?"

"We'd like you to be seen about town with one of the opera's newest leading ladies," Andre said. "Her name is Sarah Beckworth, she is an English singer who has impressed us lately, and- and this is strictly between you and me, you understand- within two months' time, will replace la Carlotta as our diva!"

"Now do you understand?" Firmin asked in a tone of voice that implied Raoul was rather dense.

"Oh, I understand how this benefits you, and your opera," Raoul said sardonically. "Lead the pretty thing around, make eyes at her, and everyone will come see who it is the Vicomte love so well! But I do not understand how you think this will help me!"

"Because," Firmin said firmly, "you need to get over this Christine Daae once and for all, and start living your life. Get out there and have fun, and forget about her."

"It's high time, man," Andre said in a friendlier tone. "She isn't coming back."

"I suppose you're right," Raoul said. "I've known it for some time. Where shall I take this Sarah to dinner?"

* * *

Back in Rouen, Christine was doing exactly what she had used for a pretense to get there in the first place: Shopping for her honeymoon clothes. Though it would not be the grand excursion Raoul had tried to plan for the two of them, Christine still wanted to look nice for Erik, and Erik had given her the money for her shopping trip with little question that morning.

"Here you are," he said, giving her his purse and smiling as he thought of part of his O.G. 'salary' going to pay for his fiancée's trousseau. "I want you to be sure to pick out the best things; after all, it's on the opera!"


	11. Chapter 12

**Okay, guys, here's the fluffy stuff…but it's far from over, I promise. Thank you for all the reviews, please, any input you can give me is wonderful! **

**insert standard disclaimer here.**

Erik stood stiffly, reigning himself in as he stood at the head of the chapel. He felt as if his body would fly to the steeple and shout to all of France if he didn't control himself.

"All these years, all this time…I thought I'd die by now, and instead I feel as young as ever."

He looked out into the few pews that lined either side of the center aisle. The only people occupying them were Madame Giry and her daughter, Meg. M. Giry smiled at Erik, recalling the joy she felt the day she married Charles so many years ago. Meg seemed a little awed by Erik; she was Christine's friend but had never really met Erik other than through Christine's and her mother's tales. Both were invited under the greatest secrecy. The invitation asked them to the wedding of Mademoiselle Christine Daae and Monsieur Omar Girad.

"Mother, look at this!" Meg called, running into her mother's room holding the ivory invitation. It was engraved in gold and quite beautiful. "It's an invitation to Christine's wedding!"

"How lovely," M. Giry had said, not looking up from her books. "I haven't seen her since her last performance. It's good to know she's well."

"But mother," she protested, her desperate tone finally getting her mother to face her. "Christine is not marrying the Vicomte!"

"What foolishness is that, child? Of course she is!"

"No, mamman, I mean it! The invitation, well, here! Look!" M. Giry accepted it with a look of resignation, she was sure her daughter had read something incorrectly. Perhaps she did not know D'Chagney's first name was Raoul?

"Omar Girad," she read. "What a curious name. I don't remember hearing anything about that courtship, she never even mentioned such a person, and I knew her for years! She only talked of Raoul, and, of course, Erik…" she trailed off as the larger type for the first initial of each name became more evident.

"Omar…Girad…" she said slowly. Her face broke into one of absolute joy. "O.G. Meg, do you know what this is?"

Now, sitting in the first pew on the left, Meg clutched her mother's hand.

"So the stories are true," she thought to herself. Erik was wearing his prosthetic pieces for the wedding. He and Christine had had a minor argument over it. She felt there was no need for it, since only friends were present, the violinist, and the priest. He insisted rumors would circulate, Meg might be frightened, and the whole thing would be easier on him in the long run. She conceded, but as punishment refused to tell him anything of her wedding dress, only that she didn't want to wear the one he bought for her during the winter. "Too many memories," she'd said, nuzzling against him. "This is a new start for us."

Nadir stood at the head of the aisle, behind Erik. He knew Erik would keep his emotions to himself, but saw his shoulders shake as the music began and the priest stood behind the altar.

Erik breathed slowly. "Stay calm," he told himself. "Just stay calm." The music swelled. Of course, there were no bridesmaids or flower girls, no one to give Christine away, just the opening of doors at the back of the church. He held his breath. The violinist wasn't wonderful, but she would do. The wedding march began, and, as the doors swung open, Christine was backlit by dazzling sunlight, showing only her silhouette until she took a few steps into the sanctuary.

Erik could no longer hold back tears. Christine was there, she was walking towards him, her face serene and beautiful. She carried a bouquet of white and red roses, but it was the dress that made something catch in his throat. It was beautiful, white, with a flowing skirt and beaded bodice. It was simple, but somehow that seemed only fair in comparison to her beauty. Her hair shined dark, down, the way he loved to look at it, and her huge blue eyes met his. He smiled.

"Oh, God, she's so beautiful," he thought. She stood beside him, and the priest began the homily.

"Dearly beloved…" he started, and suddenly, Erik had a flashback to that night beyond the lake. Christine, sobbing wildly in a white wedding gown, begging Erik to spare Raoul's life. Promising him the rest of her life and anything else he could ever wish for if only he'd let the boy go. He shuddered in spite of himself, an action that escaped neither Christine's nor Nadir's attention. She smiled reassuringly, and squeezed his hand. Erik relaxed. "The situation is different now," he realized once more. "She chose me before she knew there was a choice, it was over with the boy before I ever came back into her life."

From behind him, Nadir seemed to understand, and gently touched Erik's shoulder. "You did it the right way this time, my friend," he thought, trying to make Erik understand without saying anything.

"I Erik, take you, Christine," Erik heard himself saying, savoring every word as he looked into Christine's eyes, filled with tears. She repeated his vows, and to the sound of a few church bells, the two kissed their first kiss as man and wife. M. Giry found herself unable to contain herself, she began clapping, and soon Nadir and then Meg joined her.

"I love you," she said, and all he could do was hold her.


	12. Chapter 13

**AN: Here's the update. It's a little moved around, in that I deleted Chapter 11. I decided it was wholly "filler" and I didn't like it. So I'm going to incorporate a little of that in here, instead. Also…yes, this is the infamous wedding night chapter. I think it's going to be subtle enough, though, so it shouldn't be too bad…I'm keeping the "T" rating for now, lol.**

Raoul sat straight up in bed. A glance at the clock showed he had only been asleep for a couple of hours, having gone to bed early with a touch of a head cold, but something was amiss, something he couldn't put his finger on. He felt her there, felt she was drawing nearer, and knew something had happened.

Running his fingers through his fine hair, he tried to remember the last time he'd felt that way, and it came to him with a sudden, fierce blow: not so long ago, on the day that was supposed to be his wedding day. Instead of celebrating with his wife, he "celebrated" by getting ingloriously drunk with Philippe, who was equally inebriated and kept trying to bring ladies over to the table. But that date had passed, and the trauma had slowly begun to subside.

Raoul lay back on the bed and took several deep breaths, finally realizing the reason for his wakening. It had just been a dream, he told himself, and yet he could not shake the image of that final kiss between his former betrothed and her "angel," playing over and over in his mind. In the dream, she'd been asking for forgiveness, and he wasn't sure who she meant.

_You're supposed to be getting over her_, he reminded himself. The past couple of weeks entertaining Sarah had been fun, but she was not his former love, to be certain. Sarah, with her lovely blonde hair and green eyes, was beautiful to look at and friendly, but was not nearly as intelligent as some of the other women Raoul had known. Perfectly content to talk about her dresses and shoes over lunch, Raoul was equally contented to stare off into space and nod at the appropriate moments. And yet, the management was pleased with his efforts and the public was pleased with their new diva. As he sat there, he imagined Carlotta was already packing her trunks to head back to Spain. Last night's "episode" had led to a triumph for Sarah that almost matched Christine's when she took over for Carlotta so long ago, and Carlotta had this time not been coddled, but had instead been "given the opportunity" to break her contract in such a way that she dared not refuse.

Still, a nagging sense of foreboding would not let Raoul rest. Over and over he replayed their kiss, wondering why, after all this time, the both of them haunted his dreams. Sighing, he got up, crept down the hall and poured himself a drink. If he could not obtain a peaceful sleep, at least he could ensure a dreamless one.

* * *

Sighing, Raoul finished off his drink as the train whistle blew in the distance, signifying the arrival of the last evening train into Paris.

The trip from the chapel had not been an easy one for either Erik or his new bride. Christine had insisted their first night not be in Nadir's home, and Erik had acquiesced easily enough until he had learned of where she wanted to be with him.

"Paris?" he recoiled at the thought. "You wish to return to _Paris_? My dear, you know I would do anything for you, and yet I must insist you think this over."

"Erik," Christine pleaded, "it was in those cellars I fell in love with you and in those cellars I'd like to return."

"But Christine," he protested, "I don't even know if there's anything left of those cellars, and then what should we do? I can only assume the boy is still in Paris, if that is the case, and he spies you, or worse, spies you with me, there's no telling what will happen. I don't think I can rescue you from another mob," he said grimly.

"By the time the wedding is over, it will be evening," Christine said, "and we can take the train in, get a private car…no one takes the late train into the city anyway."

In the end, she had won, the private car was booked, and now Erik sat, casting sideways glances at his bride who was pretending to watch the scenery but was actually keeping her eyes on her new husband. Even in his new disguise, she could tell how uncomfortable he was.

Erik was indeed uncomfortable, but it was increasingly less and less about his face and more about the evening that lay ahead. Christine squeezed his hand gently, and, for possibly the hundredth time that journey, Erik leaned in to share a kiss with her, marveling at the fact that this simple pleasure was his at last.

Finally, the train whistle blew at ten minutes past ten o'clock, and the pair stood, bumping into each other as the train ground to a halt. Erik took the opportunity to encircle Christine's waist with his arm and pull her to him. Her eyes widened at the feeling of being so close to Erik, though she had experienced it before, and hastily he collected their bags and escorted her off the train. Quickly, they made their way through back streets until they reached the Rue Scribe entrance and Erik unlocked the doors.

"It is almost exactly as I left it," Erik said to himself. Before he and Nadir had left, he had cleaned up the torn sheet music and bits of broken mirror and set things right, but part of him had feared returning to find the place ravaged, or worse, someone waiting for him. As the door shut behind him, he gathered his wife into his arms and kissed her once again. This time, he did not pull away from her as he had in the weeks prior to the wedding, not wanting to do something the deeply Catholic Christine would regret.

Now that he was entitled, he was afraid.

"Christine," he said, at last breaking away from her insistent embrace and hands, which had succeeded in the removal of his cloak and were working on his tie, "I-"

"Yes?" she asked, kissing him once more. _She really is that innocent_, Erik thought to himself. Oh, he knew she'd heard stories, years in a ballet corps would not leave anyone unaware of the things that went on between a man and a woman, but he knew Christine, at least, had not tested many, if any, of the theories presented to her. For that matter, neither had Erik, though he had read a good many medical texts to understand the pain that can befall a woman at first.

"My love, I just want you to know…I haven't…I would have told you if I had," he said lamely. "But I do not wish to hurt you." Christine just laughed and reached for him, this time succeeding in dropping the tie to the ground.

"Let's just start here," she purred, "and see how it goes."

"Oh no," he said, scooping her up and carrying her over the threshold into the room she had once stayed in, kissing her all the while.

"No?" she asked, laughing.

"No," he said. "The sitting room is no place for a wedding night. Unless of course, you'd like some tea."

"I think tea would be lovely," she laughed, embracing him. "Of course, you can't drink tea in a dress like this," indicating her silk "going away" ensemble she'd purchased, "so perhaps you'd like to assist me." With trembling hands, Erik unlaced the back of Christine's dress and let it drop to the floor. And then he stopped, taking in the full view of his wife, hardly believing that she was to be his.

A while later, Erik lay in bed, playing lazily with the curls that rested on his chest as Christine looked at him adoringly.

"I love you," she said, resting one hand on his arm.

"And I love you," he said, sitting up a bit so he could bestow one last kiss on his clearly sleepy Christine.

* * *

Raoul fastened his cloak, annoyed that even the drink could not bring sleep to him. Perhaps a walk would do him some good, and with that thought in mind, stepped out onto the deserted, moonlit streets of Paris. Eventually, he stood before the towering opera house, gazing up at its structure and mentally reliving the last moments he'd spent below its stage.

"Christine," he whispered. "I could have made you so happy, Christine, so happy…" Inwardly, he cursed the phantom for his powers over Christine, even from beyond the grave.

"I have no idea what you were," he said to himself, "but be very glad you and I can no longer be near each other." Rubbing the scar on his neck where Erik's noose had given him quite the burn, he turned and headed back toward home.

* * *

Erik woke with a start, the silence of the basement a stark contrast to the normal street noises he'd grown used to in his time with Nadir. He smiled as he saw Christine curled up next to him, and gently kissed the hand that clutched at her pillow, but his smile was one tinged with worry.

_I only hope I can give you the happiness you so desire,_ he thought. Paris still made him uneasy, he knew he would not be fully comfortable until he was out of the city entirely. Thinking of Italy, he sat down to write another letter to the management of one of the country's opera houses.

_M. Romano_,

_Thank you for your fast correspondence regarding my student. As her vocal teacher, I can assure you she is ready for the role you have recommended. I will be accompanying her on her trip to Italy in two weeks' time and look forward to meeting you then._

_Sincerely,_

_Charles Perrault_

Vowing to post it tomorrow, Erik went back to bed. He had not wanted to arrive in Italy so soon, but as one of his opera house inquiries had led to a rather nice role for Christine and he would be severely remiss in allowing the opportunity to slip by.


	13. Plot Twists

**A/N: I've been remiss in adding the standard disclaimer. But if I've somehow fooled you into believing that I own any of the principle characters here, then you need to spend more time on this board anyhow. I do own Sarah. **

**Now, with that out of the way, you need to know that I will be leaving tomorrow to see some family and will not update for at least a week. However, I am getting back into writing more often, so if my computer behaves itself, this should wrap up nicely soon.**

**Keep reviewing! I love reading them and would welcome suggestions anytime!**

**Onward.**

* * *

Erik was sitting at the piano when he heard the sound of Christine's carriage pull up, and he rose to greet his wife.

"My dear," he said, after bending to receive her kiss, "how was rehearsal today?"

Christine and Erik had arrived in Italy the month before and had moved into their home the previous week. Christine had already started rehearsals for "The Marriage of Figaro," which, Erik had pointed out, was not exactly high opera but was still a good opportunity. He longed for the day when she would be able to move from the smaller opera houses into La Scala and take the triumph she was destined to receive, but knew that unless he was willing to resort to his opera ghost tactics once more, patience would be the only way to reach their goal.

Although…but Erik pushed the thought from his mind. As much as he loved duping those undoubtedly less intelligent but far more pompous, he somehow imagined Christine would not approve…

"It went very well," Christine said happily. "Today was the final fitting for my dress, and Madame Medeiros said things couldn't look better costume-wise."

"And your directors?" Erik said drily, amazed at her ability to focus on the most mundane topics and make them interesting. "Did you, perchance, have any singing today?"

"Oh, of course!" She laughed. "I sang quite a bit!" Then her face clouded. "But one of the chorus girls has come down with a nasty case of laryngitis. I hope she'll be ready by the opening. It isn't that far away."

"I daresay Italy is rife with chorus girls willing to take her place," Erik said. "But I hope she recovers, if she has half the voice she should to be singing on stage."

"She does," Christine assured him. "She does. Tomorrow, we'll be doing a full rehearsal, and I imagine we'll be fine."

"Good," Erik said. "Now come to the piano."

"The piano!" Christine said indignantly. "I haven't seen you all day and you expect me to sing?"

"Don't you want to be ready for your grand opening?" Erik asked in a deadpan voice. "As your teacher, I must insist-"

"As your _wife_," Christine said teasingly, looping one arm around his neck and drawing close to him, "_I _must insist that _you _pay attention to something besides music all the time. Besides, too much singing could cause," and here she kissed him once more, "a strain."

Erik rolled his eyes at his wife's logic and allowed himself to be pulled onto the divan that sat invitingly near the piano.

"I do believe this is quite the professional conflict of interest," he whispered in his ear, delighting in the sound of his wife's modest laughter.

"I won't tell if you won't," she whispered back.

Furiously, the scorned diva threw her bags down beside the bed of the lavish hotel room she had taken for the night.

* * *

"How dare they!" she fumed to herself, ripping off her cloak and throwing it haphazardly on the coat rack, oblivious as the remarkable fur trim was disturbed. "Twice! That is twice some little whore of the vicomte has taken my place! To hell with Paris! The opera house will be nothing without me!"

Still fuming, Carlotta marched to the nearest employee of the hotel she could find and ordered supper sent up, an expensive array of food and wine that could feed three people.

Her rejection had stung, to be sure, and she had made no haste in packing her things and taking the first boat away from France. She planned to take a small rest and then pursue the stage with a vigor like nothing the operatic world had ever seen.

"Scorn me once," she growled to herself, taking up pen and paper, "and watch what happens to you! Your little Sarah will wilt on that stage as your precious Christine did, whereas I, the greatest soprano _you've_ ever known, will shine for the world!"

* * *

Raoul laughed. It had been a long time since he'd been able to honestly laugh, but slowly, he was returning to the idealistic boy the world had come to adore. Philippe couldn't be happier, but it had nothing to do with the nights of drinking he had prescribed for his dear brother. No, the reason was entirely different, entirely more wonderful, and entirely blonde.

"No, I swear it, that's what he said!" Sarah laughed. "'She couldn't hit that note if you gave her a hammer and a step ladder!' I kid you not!"

Raoul laughed again and pulled the stunning apparition in blue silk a little closer. As if noticing the closeness, Sarah, too, pulled closer to the man she was with, one M. Firmin.

For as it turned out, Sarah was no more interested in Raoul than he was in her, though she had taken quite a shining to one of the opera's most influential men after all. Much to the dismay of the entirely jealous M. Andre, M. Firmin was equally taken with the young soprano, though not nearly as taken, he believed, as Raoul was with Sarah's sister, who was 20, just one year younger than Sarah herself.

Raoul couldn't remember feeling this happy. When Sarah had asked if he wouldn't mind too terribly if she brought her sister, just visiting Paris for a few months, to one of their regularly-scheduled lunch appointments, he agreed, just to have a little variety. He hadn't counted on falling for anyone, but Isabel was as charming as her sister and quite intelligent. Even Philippe approved.

"Go on," Isabel encouraged her sister, "then what did he say to la Carlotta?"

* * *

At the Teatro Dell'Opera in Italy, M. Romano's eyes widened. He looked down, read the letter again, then scanned it one more time.

"Between this news and Madame Renault," he said, using Christine's married name, "our financial troubles may well be over after all."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Another update, so if you're stumbling on this for the first time in a week, click back a bit. This may be short, I'm not sure, but I absolutely had to write it!**

**does the 'I don't own them' dance and gets down to writing**

**

* * *

**

Erik again sat toying with the keys on the piano, this time, an hour after breakfast, and he hoped today would be a productive one. He so loved Christine, but whenever she was home his time was taken entirely with her, and as a result, the musical stories that ran through his mind on a constant loop had yet to materialize with the speed he would have liked.

Still, he smiled at the memory of his wife on her opening night, allowing himself a few more moments of distraction. Her role as Susana had been wonderfully executed, and in the weeks following, had received enough flowers in her dressing room to rival that of the greatest diva. Though the managers knew she was married, the fact was not advertised, and a great many men had tried to invite her out to dinner. Of course, she had always said no…always returned to their great house set back in Italy's hills, surrounded by a stone wall, a beautiful home that afforded Christine the comforts of society and Erik the privacy he so greatly desired.

Sometimes, Erik would consent to venture out with Christine, always wearing his new facial pieces but never wholly comfortable, sure that someone would recognize him and create trouble. People still made him nervous, even with his new disguise he felt that people could sense something amiss. He couldn't stand crowds. Once, when they had gone to buy food in order to cook dinner, they had had to stand in a particularly long queue to purchase their supplies. Erik had had to leave and wait outside, burying his face in a paper and moving every couple of minutes until Christine exited the shop, bags in hand, and rescued him.

Of course, that privacy did not extend to the opera, but Erik was careful and had so far not missed an evening of his wife's always stellar performance. It would only be a matter of time, he reminded himself, before she would take on the world.

Christine knew what a sacrifice he was making in order to make her happy and was careful not to push Erik until he was ready. She was so lovely…

Shaking his head at his fortune, Erik turned once again to the keys. He should have hours before his wife's return. Hastily, he flipped through his sheet music until he came to the part that had been troubling him.

"Ah yes, here it is," he said, pinpointing the spot that had sounded unpleasantly discordant the last time he had picked it up. Raising his pencil, he went to alter the offending script, when the sound of the front door slamming immediately brought him to his feet, his hand reaching for the pistol that was never too far from him.

"Erik!" Christine screamed. "Erik!" He was accosted by the small figure who had not even taken off her cloak before pressing herself to his chest, sobbing into the shirt that, he reflected, was now ruined by the stage makeup she had not bothered to take off from the dress rehearsal.

"My God, angel, what is it?" he demanded, pulling her away from him so that he could see her face, and recoiled at the fear he saw there. "Did someone hurt you?"

Shaking, Christine shook her head and allowed herself to be led to the divan. Slowly, with Erik taking great pains to calm her enough to allow the words to come, she explained why she was home only two hours after leaving.

* * *

_"Ladies!" _

_The voice of M. Romano cut through the casual gossip that always marked the short morning breaks the actors were allowed. Christine turned slightly, M. Romano always had words for someone, but they were rarely directed toward her. She exchanged a grin with Amelia, the mezzo-soprano who played Cherubino flawlessly every night, and made a motion with her eyes that said she would continue her story later._

_"Girls, it is my regret to inform you that Charlotte will no longer be with us as Countess." Christine dropped her eyes. It was well known among the actors that Charlotte, a young beauty with a clear voice, had become pregnant, but Christine, along with the rest of her cast, had been sure that she would be allowed to finish the run, as she was not showing._

_Not so, apparently, as M. Romano was proving to be rather conservative in his views of the opera._

_"Needless to say, that brings us to a bit of an impasse, as we must go up again tomorrow night." The cast began stirring, especially those with smaller parts. Who would be chosen to fill such a large role?_

_"However, by a stroke of luck, there is someone who knows the role well and is ready to take it on. Signorina?"_

* * *

Erik's grip on his wife tightened as he heard her tell of the look that crossed Carlotta's face when she laid eyes on Christine. It had been one of extreme anger and vengeance, to be sure, but also a calculating madness. And then she'd looked Christine in the eye and approached her, under the careful eyes of M. Romano.

hr

"_Mme. Daae!" she said, for all the world sounding like she were greeting an old friend, but with cold, calculating eyes. "How chance it be you are so far from Paris?"_

"_I-"_

"_Ah, I was hoping this were the case!" M. Romano cried, approaching the two ladies, not noticing the look in either woman's eye. "How unfortunate for Paris to lose two of its shining stars, but how fortunate for me!"_

"_Signore," Carlotta fairly purred, "how kind of you to give a chorus girl a chance!" At this, M. Romano seemed fairly confused, but smiled as if Carlotta were joking._

"_La Carlotta, I can hardly imagine you presume to call our Christine a chorus girl! Why, she has had the audience on their feet every night!"_

"_Yes, she does that," Carlotta said with a smile, casting a dark look to Christine as if to remind her of the last night she had done so, when the audience ran from the opera house in terror. Then she'd allowed her assistant to show her to the dressing room, and Christine had reminded M. Romano of the physician's appointment she had decided she was late for, and ran._

* * *

"I can't go back there, Erik, I can't! How did she find me? What does she know?"

"Shh," Erik said to Christine, trying to calm his own thoughts as he realized Carlotta was only one of two women he'd ever seriously wanted to harm in his lifetime. That desire, he realized, had not ebbed in his time away from Paris.

"Things were going so well," she sobbed. "But I don't know if I can go back there."

"You must," he said firmly. "And you must go back today. Remember, this is not Paris, and you have the larger role. It is not befitting of you to act the diva."

"But she's terrible!" Christine protested. "She's so terrible, and M. Romano knows nothing of my past! He was utterly surprised to hear Carlotta and I sang at the _same_ opera house, he knows only our reputations and not the history behind them."

"Precisely why you need go back," Erik said grimly. "Do not give her much chance to spread rumors about you. Besides, I hear she is not well."

"Erik, I can't. I just can't."

"You can, and you shall," he said, gathering his cloak and making himself presentable for outside. "And I shall go with you."

As she shakily gathered her things, Erik fitted the pieces of his new disguise into place and laughed. He had not been as quiet as Christine had thought and had heard all too many rumors of Carlotta's antics in Paris, all of which stemmed from her fear of the 'opera ghost.' And yet she had unknowingly stumbled right into his path and was once again tormenting the woman he loved.

_Perhaps there is no cause to give up the ghost just yet_, he laughed to himself, and, slipping an arm around a still-shaken Christine, led her to the carriage that would take them into town.


	15. Chapter 15

**A kind of "fun" update here, but it will serve a purpose. Please keep reviewing, and, as always, if I owned them, I'd be in a much different station than I am at present. :-)**

* * *

Carlotta sat gazing at her own reflection in her dressing room mirror, and a laugh escaped her lips. Seeing Christine at the opera had given her a turn, but it was quite clear that it had given Christine a greater one. The wretched thing had fairly flown from the opera, and though she returned later, it was clear she had been shaken.

Grudgingly, though she would never tell anyone, Carlotta had to admit Christine had a powerful voice. Worse, though, was the fact that Christine held a larger role than she in this production.

_But I'm sure that will remedy itself in time,_ she assured herself. _Without a vicomte to put her in favor of the management, it will soon be clear who the real star is!_ What she refused to admit was the fact that this theater had been the only one to accept her applications for an audition. Without a doting manager, it had been a tough road, but she was in Italy, and it wouldn't be long, she was certain, before triumph would be hers.

Combing out her hair, she gave a shudder at the memory of Christine. The stupid girl had looked happy, there was no haunted look like she wore in Paris, no fearful glances into the wings…and, at the memory of the fear all of them had felt, she shuddered again. Nothing would be able to convince her that the opera ghost had been anything but real, and, even when word was out that whatever deformed creature that had occupied the cellars was nothing more than a corpse at last, she knew something was haunting that opera house.

"Let's see her triumph now, without her lover and some demented specter winning over the management," she muttered, closing the door to her dressing room and starting out down the hall.

From his position behind a pillar, Erik smiled to himself. Making his voice barely a whisper, he called,

"La Carlotta…"

The sound was barely audible, but she heard it.

The diva stopped, turned, and, seeing nothing, shook her head and continued down the corridor.

When a small series of sparks shot past her, just to the left of her sightline, she ran.

Chuckling silently to himself, Erik reflected on the crude wire device in his palm before soundlessly pocketing it.

_Simple devices for simple minds_, he thought, smiling at the reaction that he had provoked. He could hear people loudly demanding Carlotta tell them what was wrong, and her valiant attempts to tell them everything was fine, she had just startled herself, really, it was fine…

_So you're not willing to play all your cards then,_ he mused. _I suppose the rumors haven't reached this little theatre yet…but if you keep bothering my wife, this house will have its own stories to tell._ Without another second wasted on the former diva, Erik turned and left the opera house. It wouldn't do to have Christine reach their home before he did…

* * *

Erik's horse was faster than Christine's carriage, and he was able to reach the front gate, unlock the house, seat himself at the piano and be well at work on the piece that had eluded his attentions the day before by the time he heard Christine enter the house.

"My darling," he said, rising to greet his wife, "how did rehearsal go?"

"Fine," she said.

"No problems with Carlotta, then?"

"Well…" Christine paused. "I was certain she was in a foul mood this morning, because she couldn't stop dropping little comments here and there whenever the management was present." Seeing Erik's perplexed face, she continued. "Oh, not enough to give away any part of the story that would concern her. It appears she had a rather nasty falling-out in Paris, and I don't think she knows the management is aware of it. They don't seem to know anything about my situation-"

"Well, no," Erik admitted, "they wouldn't…"

"Whatever do you mean? I believe that little disaster is what is keeping me out of Paris!"

_No, _Erik thought, _that boy is_, but to Christine, he clarified.

"The disaster made the papers, but little was said about you and even less about me, as most of the eyewitnesses were less than credible, I daresay. For certain that boy was not about to sully his reputation by talking about the events downstairs, and really…well, anyway. Your showing up was a stroke of luck, as far as the management here was concerned. But Carlotta-" and here he rolled his eyes, "for reasons I'll never be able to grasp, the woman has had quite a hold on the world, and a world-famous diva showing up and anything less than La Scala is going to make people wonder why. No doubt M. Romano did a little checking."

"But a world-famous diva will still sell seats," Christine said.

"Precisely. But anyway, you said she was a right terror today?"

"During rehearsal, yes. And then afterwards, I was standing alone with some of the girls and I was certain she would cause trouble. But she just ignored me, didn't even look at me, and she had the most demented expression on her face." Catching Erik's amused expression, her tone hardened. "Why?"

"My dear," Erik said smoothly, "can't a man be concerned about his wife?"

"He can, but where _you_ are concerned, a man like _you_ concerned about his wife tends to go beyond a simple question at the end of the day."

Feigning innocence, Erik smiled.

"I don't know what you mean," he said, gathering her in his arms, "As I've never before had a wife about whom to be concerned."

Christine took the opportunity to practice the perfectly-executed eye-rolling she had picked up from Erik and returned his embrace.

"I hope you're not coming up with any new schemes," she murmured.

"As if I would need to," Erik said with a laugh. _Sometimes, it's best to play on tradition._

* * *

Raoul was playing on his own particular traditions as he waited for Isabel to take her seat in the opera house before seating himself. Sarah was starting a new role that evening, and Isabel had insisted they attend, Isabel now making permanent plans to find her own apartment house.

_A new role for Sarah_, Raoul reflected, reaching for his opera glasses, _and possibly, a new start for me. _Pushing all memories of other nights and other operas from his mind, he turned to face Isabel and presented her with a rather large diamond.

"If you're going to stay in Paris," he said, his smile growing as her eyes widened, "I would like you to consider staying with me."


	16. secrets

**Author's note: We're drawing to a close on this little story, probably only a few chapters left to go. This one is a bit short, only because the next will be rather long and it made sense to break it up this way. Expect the next very soon, because I'm on a roll.**

**No, I don't own them. Oh, if I did...**

_From the diary of Erik_

Christine is pregnant! I can't say as I'm surprised, but it certainly does throw things for a loop as far as her career is concerned. What concerns me most is the fact that she doesn't appear to know, and if she does, she is refusing to tell me. I'm not sure which is worse. I know she didn't have a mother, but surely someone told her what signs to expect. Twice this week she's run from the breakfast table and returned with no explanation, but I have heard her being sick in the bath. The poor woman is coming home looking more and more drained from rehearsal every day, and I, who have never been at a loss for words at any point in my life, have no idea how to approach the subject!

She was in the ballet! Those girls never did anything but gossip about such things- I should know, the acoustics in those rooms were really something!

If she knows and is afraid to tell me, that's twice as upsetting.

And then again, I can see why she is afraid. If this were a normal marriage, a normal household, this news would be joyously given and equally received. But things have never been normal, I can't pretend they are now.

I should have been more careful!

The idea that a child should be cursed with my face is more than I can bear.

I am not a young man. Christine has given me new life but the fact remains that within a few short years I will be almost sixty. Should something happen to me, the burden of raising the baby would fall entirely on Christine, and I have my doubts if she would be up to the challenge.

And yet, she was able to love me.

Either way, it's entirely too late to change things now!

After tonight's performance, I will have to speak with her. Whether she's ignorant of these facts or has been hiding things from me, one of us is going to wind up with quite the surprise!

_From the diary of Christine_

I could kill him! I have no idea how to bring this little bit of news up, but I can't believe it. It's so alarming that I hate to even write it, but the facts are there, plain as the nose on my face.

It seems a certain opera ghost could not remain in Paris! The signs are there, Carlotta might be quite stupid or half insane, but I've lived with this man long enough, loved him long enough to know his signature when I see it. Sparks from under the stage! Swinging doors on her dressing room, whispers as she walks, whatever the order of the day, she's been most unpleasant to be around these past six months!

I wondered why he hasn't seemed to have gotten as much done with his music as he used to.

I don't think he understands that if she ever connects these events with my presence, we will be forced to run again.

Then again, perhaps I am blaming him for too much…I thought he was poisoning her through her tea, but as I seem to have caught the same stomach bug that has plagued her, I can hardly address any blame there. Between her insane ramblings and both of us throwing up at the most random of times, I daresay the management is ready to sack us both!

I know he loves me, but really, couldn't he just send flowers? I have no idea how to talk to him about this, especially since we've worked so hard to put it all behind us.

Tonight, I'm going to have to talk to him, once and for all.

* * *

Putting the final adjustments on his dress suit, Erik set off for the opera, careful as always to leave early enough to arrive without fanfare and assure a seat carefully out of sight.

* * *

As she put on her makeup, Christine paused for a moment, catching her breath and studying her face in the mirror, a face that seemed entirely different from the one that had stared back at her in Paris. For a moment, she almost expected to her a voice from behind the mirror, but, in the obvious silence that met her gaze, she finished preparing for the opera.

* * *

Grinning like a minx, Carlotta studied the piece of paper she had been saving ever since she left Paris.

* * *

And, utterly confused but entirely curious from the letter he had received, Raoul stepped from his cab and registered in his hotel before heading to the theatre. 


	17. prelude

**Author's note: One step closer to what we know is coming. I'd love to know your opinions on this. I'm not just asking to up my reviews tab, but this fic is not over and this is not my last fic, so I would love to know any suggestions you have.**

**Thank you to Sleepy Angel and Intoxicated by Erik's Music, who always comment, as well as my other 'regulars.' I love to hear what you have to say!**

**To those who suggested Raoul seemed to get over Christine rather quickly…he's definitely on the rebound, but it has been about a year, so we'll see where that goes.**

**To the noter from Chapter 4 who caught the gross error…yes, I know it is Raoul, for some reason, my spell check likes to suggest Raul is fine…does anyone know how to go back and edit these things?**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, not mine…**

* * *

Carlotta smirked to herself in the wings. One glance into the audience had told her all she needed to know. Her plan was working perfectly!

Admittedly, in the beginning, the puzzle pieces had not put themselves together perfectly. Seeing Christine in Italy had been a surprise she would have rather done without, but as time wore on she found it increasingly odd no one spoke of her husband.

Indeed, finding that wedding invitation among Meg Giry's things had been a bit of a surprise. Carlotta had been snooping, looking for a caricature that had been circulating the ballet corps…a drawing that apparently depicted her running about with a crazed look on her face as ghosts chased her about the opera. She had been sure she would find it among Meg's things, but approaching footsteps had halted her search and she had been forced to stuff the invitation in her pocket and pretend she was looking for Madame Giry.

It wasn't until she was in Italy she chanced to wear that cloak again, not a favorite by any means, and had re-discovered the invitation. This was also approximately the time when the Italian opera house had become almost as unbearable as the one in Paris, with objects flying towards her with no provocation and disembodied voices calling to her from every corner whenever she was in her dressing room or alone in a hallway.

It had taken her awhile, she would admit, but as severe questioning revealed no knowledge of Omar Girard, or whatever that stupid invitation had said, she began to imagine that Christine was hiding something, and the more she thought about it, the more she began to connect the dots, to realize it wasn't a coincidence, that it was too well-planned for such misfortunes to only befall her when she was associated with Christine. Her nerves shot, her paranoia at an all-time high, she blamed Christine for her problems and had decided that whatever specter had haunted them in Paris had followed Christine here.

Carlotta was not immune to the rumors that had circulated about Christine's final night in the opera, but had trouble believing some of them, especially that it had been some man, not a ghost at all, but a living, breathing man, who had become taken with Christine and had been able to make her life so miserable. She especially had trouble believing that any man would be enthralled with Christine's voice when she, the greatest singer in Europe, graced the stage as well.

Ghost or man, she had decided it no longer mattered. Rumors aside, she knew there was one thing more sure than love or death, and that was the pride of an aristocrat. She was sure that Christine's lovely ex-fiance would be interested to hear of her whereabouts…she had written the letter, relying on rumors for some, guessing at the rest, and the finished result was a strong, if dramatic, little piece of bait. If she had to have her dragged from Italy, kicking and screaming, she would be rid of that formidable threat once and for all!

* * *

Raoul had been enjoying a late breakfast after a long night out with his brother when the post arrived. He accepted the letters his servant brought him and laid them casually on a nearby table, intending to look at them after he dressed. It was going to be a fun afternoon, he had planned a number of fun things for he and Isabel to share, not the least being meeting with the priest to discuss wedding plans.

Sitting back in his chair, Raoul reflected on Isabel…and Christine. Christine, he knew, would never fully leave his memory. Every now and then, he would feel a jolt of electricity and remember something about her…the way her hair smelled, her laugh, her wide, innocent eyes as she listened to what he was saying.

Except that wasn't the Christine that he had left, it wasn't her at all, and while part of him ached for his childhood love, another forced him to accept the fact that she was gone, as good as dead, in some aspects, for those months in Paris had changed her. He felt a familiar bile rising in his throat as he thought of that opera ghost, that man, whatever he was…at least now, he was dead, but he had ruined his child bride-to-be, taken his dreams and dashed them on the floor, and he knew that he would never be able to forgive that.

He loved Isabel, he knew that, too, but it was different, much different. Isabel was security, Isabel was fun, but Isabel did not know him the way Christine had, and he did not share her life the way he had shared Christine's, falling easily back on a childhood joke or an old story, touching on their past as he hoped for their future.

And yet, he was excited to be married, for all that, and if sometimes the past came back to haunt him a little too hard, he simply remembered his last moments with Christine, those moments where she all but told him she would never be able to love him…could never, not as long as her heart belonged to a dead man! The words he had spoken to her made him flush with shame, but there was nothing to be done of it now. He wondered what had happened to her…

And then the letter. When he had opened it, and saw the typewritten face, he at first thought it was a letter from Isabel.

_My dear Raoul, _it began, and Raoul felt a smile come to his face. He enjoyed it so when she used little pet terms for him, it made him feel innocent, happy…but the next lines drove the smile from his face.

_My dear Raoul,_

_Perhaps it is entirely inappropriate of me to write this letter. It has been, after all, approximately one year. I hope you are well. I was well, but you must know what a toll these months have taken on me. I do not know how to tell you how much I miss you._

At this, Raoul stopped reading, his heart in his throat as he checked the postmark on the envelope and recognized the name of a city in Italy. "So that is where you went," he murmured, too stunned by the letter in his hands to think to be upset or angry. The writing did not sound entirely like Christine, but he had been a poor judge of character before, and turned back to the letter.

_I started singing again, but have found that the joy the stage brought me is no more. I am finishing my contract on the last day of the month and will not return to the stage. It is not what I expected, and there have been terrible things happening…how I wish I had never left Paris! I have not been happy since the day I last saw you._

_Raoul, I am so sorry for all I put you through. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I would love to see you in Italy. Perhaps, then, we could begin again._

_Yours,_

_Christine._

Raoul slumped in the chair, all color gone from his face, his mind a raging mix of emotions. Christine wanted to come home! That filled him with happiness, but also anger and confusion. She had not been happy since the day she last saw him? She had practically thrown him out! How dare she think they could just pick up as if nothing had happened! How dare she ask him to forget Isabel – though he admitted to himself there was no way she could have known of her – how dare she!

No, there was no future for them. And yet…the letter had hinted at terrible things, things evidently terrible enough to get her to write, to have her ask him to save her. Lover or not, angry or not, Raoul could not find it in his heart to deny her help.

He decided to go to Italy and help her. Then, perhaps, he could have the closure he needed and be able to return to his life with Isabel, free of the ghosts that had haunted him all this time….

* * *

Raoul started as the lights in the Italian opera house dimmed. The address on the envelope had been that of the theater, he had no idea where Christine lived.

Erik could have seen him, if he looked, but his mind was too lost in his own affairs. As the lights dimmed, he leaned forward to catch the first glimpse of his wife, oblivious to the young man who, three rows ahead and two seats to the left, did the same.

And then the opera began.


	18. confrontation

**Author's notes: This is not the last chapter, there will be another short one to iron out a few details. Thank you so much for reading, and those of you who reviewed. I would especially like feedback on this chapter. It took me awhile to do and I'm pretty proud of how I wrapped some things up, but please, let me know! Thanks!**

**Intoxicated by Eriks Music- You know, there are Raoul-bashers and Raoul-tolerators, and I'm in the middle, but I have never, EVER met a reader who liked Carlotta, and you're not the one to break that theory, lol.**

**Sleepy Angel- As always, thank you for the kind review. I'm glad you liked it! **

**Disclaimer: As much as I wish they were, the POTO characters are…you guessed it…not mine :-)**

* * *

Christine rushed off the stage, pleased with her performance. She stopped to brace herself against one of the walls that made up the wings, catching her breath. Whatever virus she had contracted had not fully taken its leave, but at least she didn't seem to be throwing up as much. Only a little nauseous…

Christine instinctively cringed as Carlotta approached, bracing herself for some petty insult concerning her performance. She wasn't afraid of Carlotta anymore, though M. Romano was conceding more and more to her diva-like demands, Christine was a star here in her own right and did not fear retribution as much as she had in Paris. Still, Carlotta never let an opportunity for ridicule pass, so when the diva simply brushed past her with a simple smirk, Christine wondered what the matter was.

_Maybe another little interaction with her 'ghost,' _she thought wryly. _I have to speak to Erik about this…I really must._

Her breath returned, Christine continued down the corridor to her changing room. She never waited for Erik backstage after a show, but instead went to her room, where he was always waiting, having had time to make his way back before she did. As she approached the door to her room, she felt an arm on her shoulder, and assumed Erik had been detained and was just arriving. As she moved to turn into her husband's arms, she stopped short as she heard a noise from inside her room.

_Only Erik and I have a key,_ she realized, and quickly spun to find herself looking at Raoul. She gasped and pressed one hand to her mouth as his eyes took her in, looking at the details of her costume and coming to rest once more on her eyes, as if he were searching for something.

"Raoul!" she gasped rather loudly, hoping to alert Erik to his presence. "What are you doing here?"

Raoul's face twisted in confusion as he beheld his ex-fiancee.

"Why- I am here because you asked me to come!" he said, bewildered.

At this statement, Erik stiffened. He had heard Christine's exclamation and had taken himself away from the vanity drawer he was trying to fix for her. As his hand reached the doorknob, he heard Raoul's comment and froze.

_Surely he is mistaken_, Erik thought, reflecting to himself that it was a wonder he did not immediately assume Christine was going to leave him. He decided to wait, and see what Christine said before leaving the room. Perhaps Raoul would simply leave…_no, you know that isn't going to happen, if he came all this way, he must want something, and yet the boy sounds as confused as she! _Erik knew the real reason he was waiting was that, though he knew he could best Raoul in any challenge, he was not in any hurry for the boy to realize that he was still alive, if he could help it. _Thank God I planned to take her out to dinner afterwards, _he thought with a wry smile.

"I never asked you to come!" Christine said indignantly. "I believe you told me you wanted nothing to do with me…I believe what you said was that I was crazy, that I should be locked up!"

Raoul shifted uneasily. Whatever Christine was playing at, he didn't like it.

"I received a letter," he said angrily, "a letter in which you begged me for help, begged me to come- I didn't even know what was the matter, and yet I came all the way here! And this is how you receive me?" _My God, _he thought to himself, _she really has gone mad._

"This is how _I _receive _you?" _she protested. "I have no idea why you're here."

From her position behind the curtain, Carlotta shifted uncomfortably. She had thought that this ghost, or whatever he was, would have come to Christine's "rescue" by now. She had envisioned two possible outcomes. One relied upon the idea that Christine was not really married, but somehow held captive by whatever force was routinely making her life miserable, in which case, she would be glad to see Raoul and happy to be spirited away, leaving Italy for Carlotta to conquer. The other involved the idea that Christine was happy with this ghost-thing, with whom she would then run away, thinking it was unsafe to stay if Raoul had found them.

Now, she worried they might piece things together if she left them alone, and so, accusingly, she stepped out from behind the curtain, making both Christine and Raoul start.

"She's the one behind this!" Carlotta screamed. "Christine! I've said it before and I'll say it again, but this woman has run off on you for the opera ghost!" Carlotta smirked as Christine instantly paled, but Raoul, his attention fully on Carlotta, did not notice. "And now that ghost is making us all miserable!"

Gentleman though he was known to be, Raoul's fists tightened at the mention of Erik. Behind the door, Erik tensed, waiting for the proper moment.

"Christine?" Raoul demanded. "Is this true?"

"Of course it's true!" Carlotta howled, "And this is my proof!" When she thrust the wedding invitation into Raoul's hand, his face tightened as he took in the elegant script that invited someone to nuptials that had taken place months ago.

"Erik…" he growled. It was not the loss of Christine as much as the thought that this man had won. For though he still loved her, he had realized, watching her sing that evening, that the stage was the only venue in which she would be truly happy, and as he realized that, the boyish love that had longed so desperately to tie Christine to his side had slowly evaporated. Erik, however, was another story. "Christine…how…?"

Christine did not answer, but nearly fainted when she heard the dressing room door open. Raoul and Carlotta both stared, waiting to see the person that was currently backlit by the dressing room lamps, and therefore, utterly unidentifiable.

"My darling," he said in a thick Italian accent, "I was beginning to think you had been spirited away by one of your admirers."

Carlotta let out a demented scream at this, for the man who stood before her, who took Christine in his arms and kissed her gently, was not only not French, but wholly normal looking.

"I'm sorry," Erik continued, "I do not believe I have met your caller. A friend of yours?"

Christine was silent, and then managed to stammer,

"Yes…darling…this is Raoul de Chagny, a…childhood friend from Paris."

"How rude of me," he continued smoothly, reaching out to offer Raoul his hand. "Omar Girard. Have you any interest in the opera?"

"Some," Raoul continued with difficulty.

"Stop this!" Carlotta screamed, rushing forward to grab Erik by the lapels. "This is not her husband! This is not the opera ghost!"

"The opera ghost?" Erik said with a laugh. "Darling," he said to Christine, "I thought you said that was a Parisian myth!"

At this, Carlotta screamed and began mercilessly pummeling Erik with her fists, and consequently summoning security, the same police who had been summoned by Carlotta on an anonymous tip that something nefarious was going to happen at the opera.

When Carlotta turned on Christine, her eyes full of hate and demented anger, she lost control completely, screaming obscenities, kicking, scratching and biting until the officers were able to pry her off Christine, Erik holding his wife back from her and trying his hardest not to get involved and uncover his identity. Raoul stood aside, completely dumbfounded, and Carlotta was dragged away, screaming incoherently about voices in the walls and floors running with blood.

In the silence that followed, Raoul cleared his throat uncomfortably, somehow speechless by the sight of Christine in the arms of another man. Christine saw this and went to Raoul.

"I still don't know why you're here," she said.

"Nor I," he retorted. "Though I'm beginning to forge a few connections between this," and here he produced the typewritten letter, "and a certain screaming diva."

Erik tried not to smile. Perhaps this was not going to be so troublesome after all.

"I…" she trailed off, trying to explain Erik's presence without having to tell a lie or, indeed, fully explain.

"Christine," he said, "perhaps this was for the best. I never did apologize for my actions that day at Nadir's home. Nor could I admit that perhaps you were right." Christine looked utterly confused, so he continued. "Perhaps it is better we remain friends…and, though I know you did not plan it, I am grateful for this opportunity for closure. Can you forgive me?"

Erik knew that as "Omar," he should act surprised at this allusion to his wife's "unknown" past, but found that he did not have to act. He was wholly surprised on his own.

"Raoul…I forgive you," she said. "I do love you…as a friend. I am sorry I couldn't be honest with you, but for a long time, I don't think I was honest with myself."

"That's all right," he said. "We all have our secrets." He cast a look at Erik, a look that Erik could not decipher. "I- I am to be married."

Christine felt relief.

"I am glad," she said.

"Perhaps, if it is all right with your husband…" he trailed off for a moment, "we could keep in touch?"

Christine glanced at Erik, who was standing as she'd never seen him before…slack-jawed, at a total loss for words.

Well, almost.

"I think that would be appropriate," he said. And then he mentally cursed himself…not because of his permissiveness, but because he had forgotten he was supposed to be Italian.

"I amhere foranother week," Raoul continued, "It seems my fiancée has always wanted to explore Italy. Perhaps we could arrange supper sometime."

"That would be nice," Christine said, though momentarily queasy at the idea of food.

"Wonderful," he said. "It was nice meeting you both. Goodnight, Christine…Erik."

And, raising one of Christine's hands, he met it briefly with his lips and turned to meet Isabel, who waited in the foyer.

With a smile, Christine reached up and touched the prosthetics on Erik's face.

"I haven't seen these in awhile," she murmured.

"Well," he said gallantly, "I thought I'd take my wife to dinner."


	19. revelation

**Author's notes: Erik is in his fifties. In the Kay novel, he is approximately 50 when Christine is 20. There's a big age difference, in fact, he says something to the effect of 'even if all things were equal, I'm still old enough to be her father!' So, yes, if there were children, in a few years, he would be near 60.**

**In fact, that was my one big qualm with the movie, the fact that they made him so young (comparatively)…it was one less obstacle. Well, that, and that "bad eczema-instead-of-severe-deformity" thing. Come on, man, get some face wash and get on with life! LOL, and I watch the reviews get terrible…**

**Also, Raoul addresses Erik by his name because he figures it out. I'm not a big R/C shipper, but I don't think he's an idiot and do believe he figured out the OG thing. I just don't think it mattered as much, when he realized both he and Christine had been set up. Carlotta, on the other hand…well…I didn't have the heart to kill her, but that doesn't mean she doesn't get hers!**

**And yes, oh yes, you don't think I let Erik just get away with it, do you?**

**Oh, and I lied…there's going to be another chapter after this one, even if it's just an epilogue.**

* * *

Erik lay beside Christine that night, waiting for sleep to come, knowing that it would not until he broached the subject that, until now, he had been inclined to let slide. He couldn't bring it up over dinner, as his bride had decided to confront him with a different set of facts over the meal.

* * *

Raoul and Isabel were long gone by the time Erik and Christine had their bearings enough to leave the opera house themselves. Carlotta, too, was gone, taken by the police for further questioning and a psychiatric evaluation, according to the M. Romano, whom Christine had seen when they finally did leave. M. Romano was very upset, and not just at the prospect of having to replace one of his lead sopranos on quite short notice.

"The nerve of that woman!" he fumed to Christine. "Do you know she's been trying to implicate you in her little disaster since she came here, practically? She's been saying you're somehow responsible for her delusions!" At this, Christine shot Erik a pointed look, which he managed to miss, as he was still scanning the crowds for some sign that Raoul had, in fact, decided to tell the police his story. A well-dressed man was much more believed than a screaming stage diva…but, for the moment at least, all was well.

"Fortunately, her understudy has been working hard," M. Romano concluded. "Anyway, I can see you must have plans. Remember to be here tomorrow morning so we can work with her."

"Of course," Christine said, placing her hand on Erik's arm.

Once at dinner, Erik noticed Christine was barely speaking, though Erik tried to engage her in conversation.

"Are you thinking about Raoul, Christine?" Erik wondered what seeing her former lover had done to his wife's mind. He knew how hard it could be to lay ghosts to rest.

"No," she replied, in a civil tone, but a short one nonetheless.

"My dear," Erik protested, "what's the matter?" Christine studied the napkin in her lap for a moment before meeting his gaze with a steely look.

"The opera ghost, Erik? The opera ghost? Haven't we been through enough?"

"Christine, I-"

"No," she cut him off, keeping her voice quiet to avoid interest from the other tables but making sure to convey her displeasure. "I don't want to hear your excuses. We could have been killed if Carlotta had managed to convince someone of what was going on!"

"I hardly think that would have happened," Erik said, trying to remain calm but inherently disturbed at her anger.

"Erik, she was able to bring Raoul all the way from Paris just by implying that I was in danger! What if she had been able to somehow unmask you tonight? What if you hadn't been in disguise? For all your intelligence, I can't believe you didn't consider that!"

Erik was silent. He had considered the possibility of Carlotta going to the police but had not been sure how much she would connect with Paris. He realized how close it had come this evening. He had decided at the last minute to take Christine to dinner, had actually almost been late to the performance so he could finish applying the prosthetics that he had chosen too close to the show.

"My dear, I'm sorry," he said, the words still difficult on his lips. "I was only trying to protect you."

"Erik, I didn't need your protection! I was scared, but what could she have done? The only reason she went to the police tonight was because she was being tormented."

"I hated the thought of her making your life miserable," he said softly, remembering the tear-filled morning when Christine had first met Carlotta in Italy.

"And I love you for caring about me," she said. "But from now on, unless I am in inherent danger, please, try to hold back. If we'd been separated tonight, I think I would have gone quite mad." Erik was silent. Christine still looked angry, but some of the heat had gone from her eyes.

"Erik…what exactly did you do?" And so he told her, from the hiding behind the curtains to the syrup to induce vomiting in her tea.

"I…I am sorry," he said.

"I'm not so fragile anymore," she reminded him. Her eyes more gentle now, Erik decided to take a chance.

"You can't say you were not amused," he said, and though her gaze hardened for a moment, soon, a memory of Carlotta flying from her dressing room, half in costume, no makeup, her hair in curlers for that night's performance, screaming about an enchanted hairbrush, came to mind, and, though she tried to fight it, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. That had been the first day she began to suspect that Carlotta's superstitions had something to do with her husband once more. Then, remembering the look on the director's face at the sight of Carlotta, that smile became a full laugh.

"I wonder what will happen to her now," she said.

"I always thought that woman could do with a holiday," Erik mused, taking one of Christine's hands. With a sincere expression, he added, "I even recommended the North Pole…lovely this time of year, you know."

"Do they have the opera in the North Pole?" Christine inquired innocently.

"Now, Christine," he said, "I thought you were compassionate towards the penguins."

Christine had laughed even harder at this, so much so that the other patrons had started casting more and more pointed looks at the couple, until Erik had no choice but to gather their things, pay the bill, and escort his bride from the restaurant.

* * *

There had been no time to bring up the question that lay at the back of Erik's mind, and he'd had no desire to interrupt the ceasefire with an interrogation. Now, with the stillness of night and the quiet that comes before sleep, however short (he simply could not, not even after all this time, understand how his wife could sleep for eight hours in a stretch), the question loomed larger than before.

Erik sighed. There was no easy way to bring this up.

"Christine?"

"Mmm?" she mumbled, already half asleep. Erik considered waiting until morning to talk to her, but knew he would not be able to focus on anything else until he talked to her.

"Christine…"

"Yes?" She was more awake now, waiting for Erik to finish his question.

"Christine, are you…feeling all right?" Christine was quiet for a moment, and then she said,

"Now that you mention it, no. I mean, I've been sick quite a bit lately. I thought it was the same thing Carlotta had, until you told me about the syrup in her tea."

"Yes, well…" Erik said quietly, not wanting to get Christine upset again. "I…Christine, is there any chance you could be pregnant?"

Christine was silent.

"Christine," he pressed again, "surely you don't think I haven't noticed how tired you've been, or how sick."

"I thought that was because Carlotta was ill, though I suppose you've debunked that myth," she said. Erik paused, not wanting to get into the semantics that could lead to another fight, but also not wanting to let the matter drop.

"Christine, surely you realized something wasn't right."

"I suppose I did," she admitted. Erik tried to decide how to tactfully ask his next question, and, finding no way to approach the subject without being frank, assumed the role of a physician and asked with a clinical tone,

"Have you been experiencing your monthly…cycles?" Even as he asked it, Erik knew what her answer would be, at least as far as the last month was concerned. Normally, there were times when Christine would coyly turn Erik away from their marital pursuits, and Erik had understood what she meant. This month, he recalled, there had been no such time, something that had escaped his notice until the other signs began to appear.

Christine paused, thinking back, and remembering the same uninterrupted events, said, "No."

"Christine, why didn't you say anything?"

Christine's answer was lost in the pillow.

"Christine?" He pressed. "What was that?"

"I wasn't sure and I was worried you'd be angry," she said. "I really wasn't sure, I thought, perhaps, but then when Carlotta started getting sick that there was just something going around."

"Why did you think I would be upset?" Erik inquired, knowing that while he was worried, frightened, even, he could never be angry with Christine for something in which he had an equal hand. He wondered if Christine was worried about their child being born with a deformity or Erik leaving them alone, as he was.

"Because having a child means giving up the opera," she said simply. Erik drew back in surprise.

"My dear, is that really all that bothers you?"

"Is that all? All? Erik, the opera is my life! It's all I've known and it's all you've pushed for where I'm concerned! You've made people crazy in order to advance my career, what was I supposed to say to you? 'Hello, darling, now, don't get alarmed, but I think I may be destroying everything?'"

"Destroying everything?" Erik echoed. "Christine, if you're going to have a child, then you're going to have a child. Not telling me isn't going to change that. Besides, aren't you happy?"

"Of course I am," she said. "Now that I'm reasonably certain that's what's going on, anyway. I think having a child with you would be wonderful, but what about the opera?"

"What about it?" Erik asked. "I imagine you could go back once the baby is born." Christine recoiled.

"No one does that!" she protested. "It would create quite the scandal!" Erik merely chuckled and brought his wife to his side, pushing out the fears that were growing in his mind. _If she's happy, then that's what matters…the rest will fall into place._

"Because we've never done _that_ before," he said.


	20. Epilogue

**And so, it ends. This is the promised epilogue, and then the story will be over. Thank you to all who read, especially Sleepy and Intoxicated, who were faithful reviewers to the end! I have an idea for a new phic, which I hope to have up relatively soon. I hope you'll keep checking back for new stories! Thank you!**

**

* * *

**

Christine stared up at the façade of La Scala, hardly able to believe she was there. La Scala was the Mecca of all artists, the place you went when the sky was the limit and there was nowhere else to go, the place where the famous were lauded and the beauty of the theater appreciated…and they were here.

As she started up the stairs, she paused, allowing Erik to catch up, and holding out her arm to help him up the stairs.

"We don't have much time," Erik said, joining his wife.

"No, we don't," she said. "But I think we'll be fine."

Indeed, a check of his watch indicated that they still had half an hour until the performance began, plenty of time to go in and find their seats, to obtain a program and get comfortable.

"I do hope Grace isn't nervous," Christine said, pausing a moment on the stairs.

"She'll be fine," he said. "She's as talented as her mother, twice as stubborn, and if she's got half the will that you've got, she'll take the world by storm."

For though Grace was but 15 years old, her talent for dance had already taken her far, and tonight, the sixth of May, she would be performing for the first time at La Scala in a new opera, not as a singer, as Erik and Christine had originally thought, but instead as a ballerina.

Christine's pregnancy had been fairly uneventful, though by her fifth month she was obliged to give up singing and set her sights on preparing for the baby. The night she was born, Erik had gazed on her perfect face and cried, and from that moment on, the baby, christened Grace Amelia, was wholly in awe of her father. She followed him everywhere as soon as she was old enough to walk, insisted on being taught the violin as soon as Erik deemed her old enough and before long, was begging him to teach her to sing, though he held off until she was 11, to give her voice time to mature.

As talented as Grace was in music, which was to be expected by all who knew Christine, at a very young age she began exhibiting an extraordinary talent for dance, living up to her name in every movement. It became apparent all too soon that Christine's knowledge of ballet would only take her so far, and soon, they had engaged a ballet tutor for their daughter, who flourished under the strict guidance of her French teacher, Mme. Abney.

Meg Giry had been so happy to hear the news that she, now a teacher of dance herself, had appointed herself Grace's teacher on the side, providing instruction whenever she and her mother had the time to see the family, which was more often, as M. Giry had since retired and Meg was doing well enough to afford time off.

Christine had gone back to the opera for a time, but when Marius was born three years after Grace, Christine had made the choice to teach singing for the Italian conservatoire, where she found she was just as happy molding other young singers as she was singing herself. When Marius was two, Erik and Christine welcomed Angelina and Giovanni to the family. Though he was getting on in years, Erik found that he was more and more delighted with each child, and, though he never said anything, relieved that all of his children would live wholly normal childhoods, unfettered by the deformities that marred his own. They were staying with their friends tonight, as Erik was unwilling to take anyone so young to the opera, though they begged to go. They wanted to hear the music their mother had sung and see the costumes that had changed so little over time. They loved to hear their parents' stories, though the most fantastic tales of all were left out.

Carlotta eventually got over her fear of the opera ghost, though it was not without time under the careful supervision of medical professionals. She never did go back to singing, but had emerged from the affair a changed person, and returned to Spain, where it was rumored she married nobility and had no trouble leaving the stage behind. She never tried to seek out Christine, and for that, Erik was quite glad, and rarely spoke of the opera ghost, though she still swore it had all happened as she had said.

As the overture started, Christine gripped Erik's hand, remembering how nervous she had been at that gala night so many years ago. Erik looked over, took Christine's hand and pressed it to his lips.

_Thank you_, he thought.

**Fin.**


End file.
